Ships That Pass in the Night
by Mackenzie L
Summary: There was a story before it all, one that was forgotten behind the curtain of the past. — The love story of Georg von Trapp and Agathe Whitehead.
1. A Chance Encounter

**Ships That Pass in the Night **

**by ****Mackenzie L.**

****_I don't claim to be a history buff, and I don't pretend that there are no inconsistencies regarding historical fact that may be found in my story, but after all it is fiction isn't it? That being said, I did as much research as I could to make it pass off as realistic._  
_Again, this is not a typical piece of fanfiction for the Sound of Music as it revolves around the relationship between Georg and his first wife. Maria and the children don't show up until much later. _

_* This fiction has been rated T for themes and language in later chapters._

_* * I do not own anything related to The Sound of Music or material containing information about the real Von Trapp family_

* * *

**Chapter 1: **

**A Chance Encounter **

The young man stepped across the threshold into the shop, the rush of warm air stinging his face as he escaped the harsh winds of the streets. He briskly wiped his boots on the doormat as he cast a cautionary surveillance around the interior of the cramp wood-paneled room. Fingering the coins in his pocket absently, he made his way to the end of the room where the owner was standing behind a desk and coughed delicately to get his attention.

The balding man turned to face the newcomer with a familiarly dark look on his face.  
"Can I help you?" He asked, not caring to hide the note of suspicion.

The younger man extricated a worn pair of gloves from his jacket pocket and tossed them finitely onto the battered tabletop.

"I'd like these replaced, please." He said smoothly, returning the shopkeeper's gaze with cool blue eyes that would brook no arguments.

The shopkeeper's mouth thinned as he clamped his hand around the pair of gloves, never tearing his eyes away from the young customer. He spoke gruffly, "A bit early for me to be workin', son."

"I just need a replacement." The youth said in a voice whose maturity would have surpassed its owner's appearance, were it not for the stoic composure of his façade.

The shopkeeper grudgingly slid the gloves off the desk, unnerved by his customer's calmness. With one last glance of displeasure, he disappeared into the door behind him.

The young man stood still, his hands splayed habitually at his sides as he scanned the sparse shelves on the back wall. Although he had grown used to the feeling around these parts, he had the keen sense that he was being watched as he stood. He felt aware of a presence in the room with him...

A quick glance to his right proved his senses correct. A young woman, most likely not yet past her teenage years, was staring at him from beside a shelf full of brass cutlery. As his glance met her, she quickly looked down in sudden captivation with the shelved objects. Under normal circumstances he would have smirked to himself in having had the attention of a woman without his knowledge, but this particular incident felt different.

The girl was not jarring at first glance, but her eyes had been so clear, nearly colorless enough that he had trouble discerning in which direction her gaze pointed. Her chestnut colored hair was pulled back away from her face, a few wispy strands framing her ears. Her skin was of unblemished ivory, not the color of one who spent her time in the sun, working.

She did not seem to belong here, in Gateshead, of all places. And yet, something was so achingly significant about her. A small smile crossed his face as he regarded her brisk movements. He was intrigued enough to initiate a conversation.

"How much do you wager he'll be back in that storage for hours just to spite me?" He raised the volume of his voice just enough for her to understand that he was talking to her.

She glanced up from the small copper item she had been studying, her large, crystalline eyes staring at him in mild surprise. She seemed momentarily stunned, but did not speak. She gave a genuine smile of amusement at his comment, then cast her eyes down sheepishly.

Slightly puzzled by her gesture, he turned his gaze back to the door behind the desk. Perhaps she was too shy to talk to him, or even more likely, she may not even speak his language. Gateshead was notorious for its eclectic assortment of tongues; its inhabitants were known to speak everything from Greek to Hindi.

A shift of material closer to his side drew his attention to his right once more. She stood at the other end of the desk now, smiling at him wryly, as if she held some secret.

To his surprise, she spoke clearly in an upper class accent that all but mirrored his own, "It's not unlikely... you were very demanding, weren't you?"

He smirked at her delicately delivered sarcasm. "Is it so much to ask at six o'clock in the morning?"

"That depends...what time do you start working, sir?" she inquired with a humor to her tone, her eyes dancing between the dim flicker of candlelight and the tentative turquoise tint of dawn filtering through the panes of the dusty window.

Impressed by her wit, he responded pointedly, "I must expect my work to begin at any time, day or night, no matter how ungodly the hour." It was the full truth.

She raised her thin eyebrows in a gesture that could have either been of doubt or approval. "What an - interesting job you must have." she commented teasingly.

He merely gave her an enigmatic smile of his own and turned to watch the window as a gust of wind whistled past.

"You're in the Navy, aren't you?" Her voice was knowing, almost accusatory, but soft all the same.

His head turned quickly back to regard her. The corners of her mouth twitched upward and she cocked her head in a silent demand for confirmation.

"Yes," he replied simply, the tone of awe he had tried to suppress had crept unwillingly into his voice. She smiled in satisfaction, and some level of familiarity.

He regained his mind's composure, "Well who isn't around here?" he added flippantly.

She gave him that same wry smile, "I'm not."

He chuckled and nodded, "For good reason, I might add, fraulein."

She merely bit down on her lower lip, suddenly appearing the shy teenager again as when he first caught her staring at him.

"Dare I ask what a young lady such as yourself would be doing in Gateshead in the first place?" he voiced with genuine curiosity.

Her face straightened as she responded simply "My father travels with the Navy. I'm visiting him."

_Interesting_. "Do I know him?" he asked, edging slightly closer to her.

She folded her hands and set them on the desk. "John M. Whitehead?" The familiar name sounded forth from her lips and he immediately recognized it.

He all but spluttered in disbelief, "You're John Whitehead's daughter?" She gave a series of small, rapid nods, her crisp little smile returning as she widened her eyes at him.

"I don't believe it." he said, toning down his excitement.

"Why? No resemblance?" She asked, tilting her head as though offering him a better angle at which to survey her features.

He answered her between laughs, "No, I just - didn't realize he was so old!"

She feigned offense at his blunt statement, her mouth dropping open comically.

At that moment, the shopkeeper reappeared, possibly grumpier than before upon seeing the man had found something amusing as he kept him waiting.

He slapped the new pair of dark brown leather gloves on the desktop and said roughly, "Twelve Viking coins, kid."

The youth rummaged through his pocket and placed the requested change on the counter. The shopkeeper gathered up the coins and made his way to the back door again, glancing back and forth suspiciously between the pair.

"Hmm, you must not have made him too angry." The girl said in critical consideration, coming up beside him to study the gloves he had purchased with a look of approval.

"He didn't make me wait too long either." he said with an amused grin as he casually stuffed the gloves back into his jacket.

"Will you be heading back to the ship, then, comrade?" she said jauntily, looking up at him with a teasing glint in her pale grey eyes as she rested her elbow on the counter.

"Afraid so." he sighed. He did not make to move, though. He could not leave her yet.

"You will be sure to tell my father of our chance encounter, won't you? That is, if you are stationed on the same crew for the time being." she insisted softly. He found her mysterious smile hypnotic.

"Your father will hear of it, I assure you...Granted he sets aside his infernal submarine plans long enough to let me talk to him." he said with good natured agitation as he straightened his jacket and strode towards the door.

She laughed with a tone of affection that was easy to pick out, following him toward the exit. "Come now...someday, you may be fighting a war in one of those 'infernal' crafts." She admonished warningly, her innocent laughter somehow soothing to his ears. It would not be a sound he would hear back onboard the ship for another month or two - the carefree banter of a woman...

He lingered in the threshold, reluctant to leave such an engaging young woman behind. "I have my doubts, Fraulein." he said obtusely, smiling charmingly at her.

"Agathe." She corrected opaquely, her eyes luminous in the brightening flush of morning sun streaming through the open door. The wind had died down, he noted absently. Contrary to what he had expected, the relentless gusts he had faced just before he arrived were suddenly non-existent. The air outside was cold, but utterly still.

"Georg..Von Trapp." He stated his name in the same secretive tone that she had used. He reached out for her hand as propriety would have him do. Her own hand lay elegantly within his upturned palm. She stared up at him almost slyly as he lowered her hand within his and slowly released it.

"Perhaps we'll meet again someday." She murmured hazily. Her bright eyes caught the first ray of sunlight and sparkled hopefully.

"Perhaps," He whispered indulgently, and left her in the threshold.

She watched the man walk away in his sure stride until he was concealed by the dull blue mist of the empty street.


	2. Initiation

**Chapter 2: **

**Initiation **

* * *

"Hurry up, Von Trapp!"

As the two young men bolted across the rocky coastline, the fair-haired one yelled to his friend to catch up with his own enthusiastic pace.

The dark haired youth watched as the lanky blond ahead of him scrambled to climb the jagged rocks and hop up onto the grassy cliff above.

Georg's pace slowed as he reached the base of the cliff. His hesitation was not out of uncertainty, but out of regret. He was hopelessly bound to the seashore. A silent protest rose within him as he lifted his feet from the sand and began to climb strategically up the rocks.

He regained his balance on more than a few occasions, learning quickly that he did not possess his friend's nimble nature. Arthur was considerably lighter, and his long, gangly limbs made his ascent resemble that of a spider monkey up a tree.

Georg swore softly as he grazed the sole of his foot against a particularly sharp rock. He did not need to look down; he was used to leaving behind a trail of blood. He winced as he found his footing on the last few boulders and hoisted himself up onto level ground.  
Falling back onto the grass, he turned his foot over to examine the small cut, brushing out the dirt and dust that had collected there.

"Damn, I forgot my watch." Arthur muttered as he frantically struggled to stuff his legs back into his boots. "We're late, no doubts."

Georg glanced back at the sprawling hotel a good distance behind them. With an agitated grunt, he forcefully pulled his own boots over his feet and brushed the sand and grass from his clothes.

"Not quite the attire we want to be seen in this afternoon, eh, boys?" A bullish voice boomed from above them.

Both heads whipped up to regard their commanding officer where he stood, hands behind his back. Georg stood immediately at attention, as Arthur leapt from the ground just as efficiently, his blond hair bearing a comical resemblance to that of a ruffled yellow sheepdog. Georg winced at his appearance and secretly hoped his own was not as distressed.

"No sir." Georg accentuated humbly. He could feel the cut on his foot burning inside his boot, but he forced his face to remain stiff in the presence of his commander.

The emotionless, leathery face beneath thinning white hair was not a sight unfamiliar.  
"You'd do well to make yourselves look the least bit presentable for the ceremony..."

The angry eyes of the elder man shifted to the other. "Get your ass up to your room, Greimler!" He barked in the face of the tousled blond boy.

"My apologies, sir!" Arthur pronounced, rightly flustered. He took off in the direction of the hotel, without a single glimpse back.

The man's dominant brown gaze traveled the length of Georg's body and stopped to stare him squarely in the eyes.

"You've come a long way as an officer, von Trapp. We wouldn't want to start off being a disappointment _now_, would we?"

Georg swallowed under the scrutiny and stood up straighter, grinding his teeth together to ignore the painful cut, now throbbing under the weight of his body. "No sir," he repeated quietly, keeping his eyes trained on those before him.

"Good man," The voice dropped in potency as he felt a hearty thump on his back. Georg could never manage to understand why his commander discreetly favored him above the other men in his crew.

"Don't be late." The man added gruffly as he turned to head back up the hill.

"Yes, Captain."  
...

Georg leaned lazily against the marble pillar as he watched one stuffy member of high society after another stroll smartly down the grand staircase. Everyone who had wanted to talk to him had been given the chance to, and had exceeded expectations in the department of chewing his ear off. A man with such restless blood belonged not in a sea of people, but a sea of crashing green waves.

Not much earlier, he had been named lieutenant at the ranking ceremony. He had watched, with some shadow of envy, a select few of his commanding officers as they were decorated for their commendable achievements.

Someday, he promised himself, he would be more adorned than all of them. Somehow he would make his way up that daunting ladder. Somehow...he would need to put the reigns on his patience, if he had any left.

"I see someone is enjoying himself thoroughly." Arthur's amused voice came from beside him. Georg turned his head to see his friend's heavily dimpled smile widen as he handed him a glass of champagne.

"Hmph," He muttered a nonverbal response as he gratefully accepted the drink offered to him.

Arthur moved to lean against the opposite side of the pillar, swirling his own glass absently as he watched the chattering people mingle in the heart of the spacious ballroom.

"Congratulations by the way," he casually directed toward Georg, who gave a small smirk in reply. "As long as you keep making guys like me look bad, I've got no excuses."

"We're not all that different, Greimler...I just happen to have ambitions," he said loosely, studying the comforting pink liquid as it sparkled and bubbled in the thin flute.

"Right," Arthur's good-natured scoff met his ears as the orchestra started to play a simple waltz. "They just keep pouring in," he commented tiredly.

Georg's gaze drifted back to the staircase where even more impeccably dressed guests were congregating. A figure entered his field of vision from the top of the stairs, suddenly impeding his ability to roll his eyes at the scene.

A young woman, dressed in a pure, dove white gown that draped freely about her slim figure, her glossy brown hair the color of rusty sienna coiffed elegantly atop her head.

She made her way easily down the steps, with grace that would shame a swan gliding over water. With each step she descended, the material of her dress sparkled subtly. She held her head high, without so much as a glance to her feet; her posture was straight as an arrow, but not stiff, as many women tended to look. The people surrounding her seemed to part magically in her presence. In the few precious moments he watched her, his hearing was muffled as though he were submerged in water. She stopped at the foot of the staircase and surveyed the room contentedly, with a ponderous smile on her exquisite face. Georg found the sight enchanting. His eyes were momentarily incapable of moving away from her.

"Now that's what I've been waiting for." Arthur maundered as a line of servers carrying large silver trays entered from the kitchen.

Georg's wistful blue eyes drifted away rather drunkenly at the interruption, and he briefly watched the blond head of his friend recede into the crowd.

He felt his heart start to pound in a sudden, excited sort of panic as he was left alone.

Turning his head eagerly back in the direction of the stairs, his throat constricted as he saw that the beautiful woman had vanished. Something of a mysteriously delicious sinking sensation filled him as he desperately scanned the room for her figure.

Everything from relief to hysteria rushed through him, pressuring his senses keen with awareness.

"Can I refill that for you, sir?" An indifferent male voice asked him, shaking him out of his frenzied reverie.

He regarded the impassive façade of a suited server carrying a bottle of champagne and answered in a tone somewhat reminiscent of a child being caught doing something naughty, "Uhh, oh! Yes, please - just a bit."

He held his glass up as the man poured a generous amount into the flute. With some embarrassment, he realized his hand was shaking, if ever so slightly. Whatever was coming over him, he did not like it one bit...and yet, he found himself savoring it.

The man departed after he had filled the glass nearly past the rim. Georg winced down at the fizzing drink as he caught the enticing aroma of the alcohol; it was both the last and the first thing he needed at a time like this...

She was here...she was somewhere. She had to be...

"I presume you've put those new gloves to good use, Lieutenant."

He veered around at the stirring sound of a sweet feminine voice. A gentle sizzle of shock flew through his body as his eyes settled on the breathtaking beauty he had earlier admired from afar.

It was not more than a second before his mouth fell open in sudden understanding. This was the woman he had seen at the shop in Gateshead only months ago.

Now that she was up close, her diamond-like eyes gave her identity away. He most likely never would have recognized her as the mysterious, homely young girl from his memory. But now that she was before him again, looking the way she did...

He cleared his throat and replied with practiced smoothness, "Indeed I have, Fraulein. The proof lies in the sorry fact that they are now expertly torn again, even worse than the pair they replaced."

She laughed - a delightful, melodic sound. That sound he had tried fruitlessly to summon from memory not long after hearing it for the first time. He smiled in rare sincerity; just the simple sound of her laughter was so utterly satisfying.

She gave a prompt flourish of her feathered lavender fan - a mundane act being repeated by every other woman around him - but somehow, when done with the light wave of her slender hand, it fixated him with fascination.  
"My father says he's never seen someone so young scale the ranks quite so swiftly before," she remarked with a notable tinge of impression, her bewitching little smile promptly fixing itself across her lips.

His restless eyes were instinctively drawn to her mouth at that moment. He had not remembered her lips being quite so shapely...or so full. Had it somehow conveniently escaped him before?  
He shrugged - the gesture meant to both disguise his distraction and portray an expression of modesty. "I owe it to my passion, I suppose," he admitted, unable to diagnose the dazzled look in her own eyes as she regarded him, "I'm one of the few men in the fleet who actually enjoys being out on the sea, facing mortal danger every other hour."

Her smile grew as he spoke, revealing a flawless row of small, snow-white teeth. "Yes...you strike me as that sort of man," she noted eloquently, cocking her head slightly as she slyly considered his façade from the chest up.

He felt something within his heart swell luxuriously under her crystal clear stare. When he spoke in response, his voice had deepened involuntarily, "You strike me as well, Fraulein, but in an _entirely different way_."

It wasn't what he had meant to say... in other words, it was exactly what he had meant to say, which was why it should have remained unsaid. But the words had emerged helplessly from him before he could realize he was speaking his thoughts far too soon.

She lifted her delicate eyebrows in a charming expression of surprise. Her voice was slightly flustered, but in a consistently elegant fashion, "I do, then, do I, sir?" She brought her fan up to rest against her throat almost protectively as she studied him with a mild smirk on her face, "In what way, may I ask?"

He leaned his shoulder nonchalantly against the pillar again as he spoke, "Perhaps that wasn't the proper way of putting it. You see - you strike me is all." There was no taking it back now, he might as well embellish it.

She was taking it just as he would have her do. "Well, I'm flattered, Lieutenant," She brushed a fine wisp of hair behind her ear as a light blush dressed her cheeks. Her eyes looked up at him coyly from beneath her defined lashes and she added softly, "However...that which you speak of is not in an _entirely different way_..."

He became conscious of her implication and his pulse snapped to life. She was flirting with him.

He glanced to both sides to make sure that they were being watched. When a sufficient number of eyes appeared to be gazing in their general direction, he stood up to his full height and signaled for the man carrying the champagne tray. Picking up a glass, he held it within her reach and she accepted it with a look of mirth in its utmost purity.

"Shall we... Agathe?" He murmured her name for the first time, offering her his arm. She slipped her arm daintily through his and followed his lead out onto the veranda.


	3. Of Carnations and Carnage

**Chapter 3:**

** Of Carnations and Carnage **

* * *

"Men like you are the very reason I don't make a habit of taking all sailors seriously!" Agathe's merry banter gained the attention of several onlookers.

Georg laughed passionately at her every comment, her radiant smile all the more pleasing to him in the cloudy sunlight.

They had talked for over half an hour and she was positively lathering him with her glittering charm and enthusiasm. He was, decidedly, hopelessly addicted to this young woman. How he had nearly let her slip from his memory was beyond him.

She settled to a slightly more serious tone. "Do you know that I christened every ship you've been on?" She smiled at his look of surprise, "I christen all the ships on which my father sails...that means you as well."

Georg smiled contentedly at her. What a blessing that he happened to be on the same crew as her father. However, John was not always on the same ship, since his job was to simply study the various parts of different ships as his father had done as an inventor of boat parts. Georg knew deep down that if he continued to raise his own ranking, there was a possibility he could eventually be moved to another boat, anyway. As much as he wished to make something of himself in the Navy, it almost felt invaluable when he thought of it as distancing himself from Agathe. As of now, her father was the only tangible link between them.

Georg watched Agathe as she leaned against the marble railing, admiring the seascape. Her eyes were the most colorless he had seen them in the washed out rays of weak sunlight leaking through the nearly overcast sky. They took on an almost violet shade as she focused on the distant waves. The gentle seaside breeze washed over them, carrying the intoxicating aroma of her perfume into his lungs.

Suddenly, she whirled around to peer back through the doors to the ballroom where a slow lilting waltz was beginning. She looked up at him and whispered expectantly, "You are going to humor me with a dance, aren't you Georg von Trapp?"  
He suppressed a terribly uncharacteristic flutter in the pit of his stomach as she pronounced his full name just above her breath.

"I have no choice now that you have so graciously humored me with conversation, Fraulein," he quipped playfully. She laughed affectionately, dragging him back inside.

They came together in the midst of many strange couples in the center of the vast marble floor. Georg marveled at how inexplicably harder it was to reach out mere inches and grasp this woman's waist than it was to draw a sword to point at an enemy's throat.

Her slender fingers were cool within his palm as she pried her left hand into his right. He absently wondered if she had been observant enough to figure that he was right-handed, or if her placement of hands had just happened by chance. She slid her right hand up to rest along the top of his shoulder, his rapidly thumping heart creating a clamor of elation within his chest at the contact, however minute.  
He fell under the spell of her teasing smile as he gathered her in his arms, losing his senses to her every refined movement. He thanked his feet for remembering the steps of the waltz even while he was inebriated by her presence. The cut on the sole of his left foot that had been a nuisance for him to even step on just moments before her arrival had apparently healed by itself.

With her body so close to his own, he felt the long absent swell of temptation pose a gentle threat as he drank in the scent of her hair, the softness of her milky skin, the taunting glimmer in her eyes...  
Would it be too much too soon for him to ask her to come back to his room with him later that evening...? His conscience reprimanded him with a hard sting in the belly. He couldn't think that way. It was so dangerous when he was in such a situation. It was not his place to take women to his bed after first meeting them. It was not his place to take women to his bed, period. He was close friends with her father, for God's sake. He had a commitment to the militaristic lifestyle, one that he was too passionate about to give up so easily. Although, meeting Agathe Whitehead had put him in a place he had never thought he would be.

Like all men, he was not immune to suffering the occasional minor infatuation with a young lady. He had had his share of such incidents, even those of unrequited feelings when he had been considerably younger. However, Georg prided himself on being notably less vulnerable to the sickness it could induce in some young men. His heart was not easily warmed to its melting point.  
But this seemed to be a different case. He realized that by agreeing to dance with this young woman, he had escalated their relationship to a level that could not be descended. While he was fairly certain he could determine when he was smitten with someone, he was not entirely sure that he was capable of knowing when he was in love with someone, if the situation should ever present itself. He was not blind enough to proclaim himself in love with Agathe; after all, it was likely that he might never even see her again after this week, but there was something inexorably significant about her, something he had even noticed upon their first brief meeting.

The music died down and the pair stared at each other, oblivious to all that was moving around them. A young woman sidled past them, bumping Agathe into him and unlocking their gazes. "Are you all right?" Georg asked her, more out of concern for her facial expression than her composure. Agathe frantically drew herself up, and with a flustered look in the direction of the lady who had run into her, suddenly broke her contact with Georg, mumbling apologetically, "Forgive me, I have to go. I'll find you later, if I can..but I must leave now - excuse me."

Before he could stop her, she tore her hand from his and dashed away through the crowd, out of his view.  
He swore under his breath and charged unceremoniously in the opposite direction, ignoring the efforts of those who tried to gain his attention.

Finding a safe place away from the eyes of onlookers, he tossed himself against the wall beside the back hallway, breathing heavily.

"Georg...Georg!" Someone hissed his name, and he jerked his head around, searching for the source. Peeking out from behind the curtained archway into the rear hall was the sandy-haired, youthful face of his cousin. "Get over here!" he whispered emphatically, with an exaggerated gesture of beckoning.

"What is it, Heinrich?" Georg demanded, not in the mood to discard his agitation.

"Come here!"

Georg vainly glanced back once more into the crowd before plodding grudgingly over to his cousin's hiding place. "What?" He grunted irritably, whipping back the velvet curtain to reveal his eager relative. Heinrich's hand flew to Georg's collar and pulled him inelegantly into the back hall.

"Have you been courting Agathe Whitehead?" he came right out with it, borderline on incredulity, his excitable yellow-green eyes the size of saucers in his freckled face.

"No! We only just - _why _is this any of your business?" he cut off forcefully, forgetting his place as he was met with the astonished expressions of a few elderly guests. Lowering his voice he continued, "We just met...nothing's going on." He muttered in half-truths.

Heinrich looked crestfallen, but only for a moment. "But you want there to be," he said in wry certainty, with a mischievous smirk.

Georg twitched with the last of his bubbling temper. "Shut up and leave me alone!" he said as fiercely as hushed volumes would let him. He tore open the curtain and rushed into the ballroom, his eyes darting madly across the crowd in search of her pristine smile. Ignoring the hectic footsteps of his cousin as he followed him out, Georg hastened his own pace, slapping the marble columns one by one in frustration as he made his way along the length of the vast, oval room.

He stopped at the last column, by the French doors to the veranda, listening to Heinrich breathing behind his neck. "Did she run away from you?" He burst obnoxiously, and Georg's hand sprung up to cover his cousin's mouth. "I said shut up, you idiot!" He breathed abruptly, mildly amused, but also greatly annoyed by the juvenile nature of their behavior. Here he was, almost twenty years of age, just having been named a lieutenant in the Navy and he was acting like a foolish teenager, searching obsessively for some girl at a party.

His stomach jolted as he spotted her suddenly, talking with a red-haired girl at the far end of the room by the windows. She was the only woman who seemed to glow in the white of her gown. "There she is," he murmured absentmindedly, forgetting who he was talking to. Heinrich pried himself out of his cousin's strong grip, which loosened extensively in his preoccupation with the young lady across the room.

Glancing back and forth between the two, he mused analytically, "Hmmm, I'm not sure if I can see you two together..."  
Georg elbowed the boy backward, his icy eyes flashing as he stared him down into silence. Although he was only a bit over a year Georg's junior, Heinrich was painfully immature at times, and as much as Georg hated to admit it, being around him for too long proved the immaturity contagious.

"What's going on?" Arthur's voice came from behind the pair, causing both to jump with a start.

"Georg's spying on Aga-"

Georg slammed his arm unforgivingly into Heinrich's belly before he could finish the sentence.

"Georg? Spying?" Arthur uttered in disbelief, "That's a new one." He punctuated the comment with a noise somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. Placing one hand on the pillar and the other on his hip, he scanned the room thoughtfully. "So who are we spying on?"

"No one." Georg stated adamantly, knifing Heinrich with a sharp stare. It was bad enough that his cousin had noticed he had taken a liking to the girl; he was not about to let Arthur in on the story, or else he and Agathe would both be made a spectacle of in a day's time.

"Aw - pity, I'm bored." Arthur muttered lazily, grabbing for another glass of champagne from a passing tray.

"Hey could you get me one of those...hey!" Heinrich mumbled, calling ineffectively after the retreating server. He nosed over Arthur's shoulder, staring down at the champagne. "Could I just have a -"

"Yeah, get lost now, kid…" Arthur waved him away amusedly, "Go finish your pasta." He said with comical force akin to that of a father to his son.  
"So who are we spying on?" He repeated in a furtive whisper as soon as Heinrich was gone.

Georg massaged his temples in exasperation. This could not get any worse.

"You can't get involved with him."

"Why not, Hattie?"

"Look Aggie, I know it's not really my business to say so, but you're not ready for a relationship with someone like him."

"Someone like him?"

The redhead sighed and reached to place both hands on her friend's shoulders. "Trust me, Agathe, men in the military are so depraved, they're ninety-five percent more likely to bail when it comes to the commitment. They don't want long-term relationships, they want a week's worth of sleepless nights and a ten year leave of absence."

Agathe shook her head vehemently. "Not him."

"Just don't say I didn't warn you, darling." The woman said, dropping her hands from her shoulders. "Please remember that I speak from experience...Ninety-five percent." she reminded warningly.

Agathe pasted on her perfect smile and sighed proudly, "I'll just take my chances on that unvoiced five percent."  
Excusing herself curtly, she darted back to the dance floor in search of the man she deserted.

Georg numbly noted that his foot was beginning to ache again. He walked stiffly toward the staircase, trying to avoid shifting his weight too fully onto his left foot.  
He rolled his eyes at the sight of Heinrich puffing himself up at the attention of a simpering teenage girl on the opposite side of the dance floor.

"You're limping," Agathe's angelic voice floated to him from his side. A wave of silent relief enveloped him at her return, and he smiled regretfully at her.  
"I hope I didn't step on your foot as we were dancing earlier," she jested with a mocking smile.

He chuckled heartily, "No, no. I was climbing outside earlier and I cut my foot on one of the rocks."

She furrowed her brow lightly, "You were climbing?"

"Yes, up the cliff that overlooks the shoreline," he explained with an illustrative gesture of his hand, "I was on the beach early this afternoon...somewhere I was not supposed to be."

An understanding grin crossed her lips. "Naturally," she tutted knowingly.

It was incredible how they had grown so familiar with each other's inherent habits and weaknesses within such short time of knowing one another.  
Just as he was about to ask where she ran off to so urgently, another rather stout woman of her age brushed past them, clutching Agathe's arm with vice and dragging her away to the back hall with her. Agathe uttered a small, startled yelp and sent him a thoroughly apologetic look as she disappeared behind the curtain against her will.

He released a bitter laugh of disbelief, but refrained from swearing as he channeled his frustration in an insubstantial strike at the banister. Was there some sort of conspiracy being plotted against them?  
This was ridiculous.

Behind the curtain, Agathe's god-sister Eliza prattled on about everything on her person that held her disapproval.

"...And that dress, Agathe! It looks like a bloody night-robe..." her stout fingers pinched at the filmy material to examine it with some degree of distaste. "Why didn't you wear the one I picked out for you? White is just not your color, dear, I'm sorry. We can't all be that lucky-"

"Eliza!" Agathe burst, desperate to end her cursed blather. Adopting a bitterly ladylike tone she drawled pointedly, "Would it be painfully difficult for you to find a more appropriate time to pick apart my apparel?"

The thick young woman puffed herself up defensively, about to protest, but Agathe again cut her off. "I'd also appreciate it if you would kindly refrain from interrupting me while I am in the middle of a conversation with another gentleman." She directed a frosty glare at her god-sister, using her fiercely colorless eyes to her advantage. She efficiently stopped her from arguing further.

The mousy haired girl pursed her lips and fumbled to yank a rather ostentatious gold satin wrap from the hat-stand in the corner of the hall. "I'll see you at the next _family function_, then?" She suggested sourly, ignoring Agathe's requests. "By the way, I don't care for your snappy attitude, Aggie," she added a bit too severely. With a final dramatic flourish of the wrap around her fleshy shoulders, she hissed in a tone rich with detest, "And who is that man you're _clinging _to?"  
With a brief glance back through the open archway where Georg was still standing, she turned on her heel and left, the permanent look of disgust plastered to her rotund face.

Agathe extricated herself from the curtains and immediately found herself smiling easily at the sight of the handsome young man still leaning languidly against the banister. "I was afraid you would run away from me by now." She confessed diplomatically.

He turned to regard her with his searing blue gaze. "That is highly unlikely, fraulein," he remarked suavely, "Although it is quite understandable that someone should wish to run away from me."

She giggled musically and neared him with shy steps. "I promise not to run away from you again, sir," she whispered suggestively.

He smiled smugly, "Good."

"But if you wish to keep me here, you must offer me a gift, or else I shall think your desire for me to stay here simply fallacious," she proclaimed with exaggerated dubiousness.

"But of course, dear lady." He played along, humoring her, and turned around to consider an abundant silver vase of pink flowers.

He looked sneakily in both directions and she barely succeeded in stifling a laugh as he hastily gathered together a small bouquet. He laughed sheepishly along with her as he proffered the bunch of small blossoms.

"Carnations. How thoughtful." She mused whimsically as she accepted them from his hands.

"You see, even now I'm breaking the rules," he chuckled, shaking his head.

"A habit that you will soon grow out of if you want to become an Admiral someday," She reprimanded humorously.

"Sadly..." he cocked his head, considering her words.

Hugging the bouquet of carnations close to her chest, she inclined her head and suggested wistfully, "Now show me this sea of yours."


	4. Turning Tides

**Chapter 4:**

**Turning Tides**

* * *

"I still can't believe you've never been _in_ the sea before." Georg said incredulously as he led Agathe across the long green lawn towards the shoreline.

She pushed back a few wisps of hair that had been worked loose by the wind. "It's not expected of a lady to do such things."

He stopped when he reached the rocky cliff and realized he would have to take the long way around this time. He was not about to make this elegant creature crawl and climb like an animal over the jagged obstacle as he had done earlier.  
Georg tentatively took her hand and changed direction towards the safer, manmade ramp further down the lawn.

"Well, you've obviously changed your opinion for this occasion." He said, turning to her with a small smirk.

He saw that she was smiling as she responded, her voice like gossamer, "For a man like you that is rather easy."

He merely shook his head humbly at her but she continued to smile secretively at him, her eyes inspecting his face in a way that was hardly contemplative.  
They walked down the ramp at a calm pace, but he could feel the reserved sort of tension that always built up inside of him when he was about to encounter the sea. He harnessed it behind a wry smile of compressed excitement and tightened his hand around the smaller, feminine one in his grip.

The glorious sound of collapsing waves and the invigorating aroma of salt drifted through the thin air and ensnared his senses.  
He paused at the end of the wooden ramp, and his fingers absently went to his newly decorated jacket. He was acutely aware of the piercing eyes watching his actions as he deftly unbuttoned it and leaned against the railing to pull his shoes off. She watched as he tossed them aside and looked hesitantly down at her own shoes.  
He stared down at her with his eyebrows raised expectantly. Meeting his azure gaze with a mischievous grin, she slipped her small feet out of her dress heels and bent over to tuck her fan into his empty boot.  
With a muffled chuckle, he took her by the wrist and stepped onto the sand.  
A feather light gasp escaped her lips as she watched their feet sink into the soft golden dust.  
She breathed out laughter so delicate it was like a ribbon of glass to his ears under the sound of crashing water.

His eyes followed her willowy figure thirstily as she sprang ahead of him, racing towards the tide, the white sash of her gown flowing out behind her, giving the fleeting impression of angel's wings fluttering behind her back.  
He caught up to her quickly where she now stood in the damp, darker strip of sand just along the surf. "C'mon," he whispered reassuringly and again claimed her hand. He felt her grip clench harder around his hand and smiled heartily out of her view as he gently nudged her into the shallow tide.

Agathe felt her heart warm with delight at the simple, but somehow astounding sensation of the curling waves around her bare feet. It was an eye-opening moment, one of those rare moments in time when one feels like a child again, engaged in an experience so new and unfamiliar.  
How had she never before allowed the water of the sea to once touch her?  
She watched as the current danced around her, forming a sparkling foam that tickled the sensitive skin of her feet.  
She marveled at the way the flushing waves flooded the place where they stood and fell back again as suddenly as they had come, smoothing the sand that had been disturbed by their footprints.  
She had thought the sea fascinating just for the grand scape of it against the horizon; the picture perfect lines of sand, water, and sky that she saw while standing in a window or from the deck of a ship. But it was so much more than a scene worthy of being painted and hung on the wall. It was a living, breathing entity, titanic in magnitude and majestic in power.  
The clouds sailed so close above them, so low in the atmosphere that they seemed tangible - as if they were large fluffy pieces of cotton, and if one only reached above his head, he could grab one and pull it down from its mindless path through the sky.

"It's breathtaking, Georg." Her whisper funneled to his preoccupied mind.

He tilted his head back, letting the mild breeze flutter across his face, "Hmm, but you didn't need me to reveal that to you." His voice was dismissive, but the look she granted him as he said it was serious.

"No.." she softly agreed, "But I would have never been bold enough to come this close to it on my own." She smirked pointedly, "Ladies do not normally get their feet wet."

He stared at her and she was locked in her place. His gaze held a gentle aggression to it that seemed to pin her down, a wonderful weight filling her feet and causing her stomach to free-fall into a non-existent space. She had never seen eyes like his before. Eyes so vibrant in blue energy that they carried their mysterious voltage into her body when she stood close enough to him. She presumed that if there really existed a city called Atlantis at the floor of the ocean, the very pigment of the walls on the palace that housed the god of the sea would not even compare to the color in this young man's gaze.

Suddenly a sizable wave crested a few feet ahead of them, and before they could back away, it surged ahead and crashed around their legs. She gave a yelp of surprise and gripped tightly to his arm before she lost her balance. His own center of gravity was thrown off-center as he laughed richly and held her against him.

"Yet another thing to love about the sea - you never know what it's going to do next." He said above the sound of rushing water. She smiled spontaneously at him, still clutching his shirt. Her dress was soaked up to her knees, as were his trousers, but she didn't care. Propriety seemed trivial...petty, even, in a situation like this.

She studied his face, admiring the way the wind tossed his hair about in such an irresistible manner, the way his eyes glittered so liberally in the faint sunlight...  
She could kiss him now, if she wanted, couldn't she? She could...she was confident that he would do nothing to prevent her from initiating any such act, no matter how intimate. However, to kiss him now would be dreadfully close to kissing someone on the first day they met, which until this moment, Agathe had regarded as shallow and uncouth - kissing someone you had just met was like giving a standing ovation to a play that never took place.

But she had never seen this coming. There would have been no signs, no arrangement of the stars to tell her that she would suddenly feel like a foreigner in her own body; that this man, this soldier even, would take an interest in her of all the women he had to choose from and appear completely devoted to her. Devotion between two strangers - that was what they had. It was so impromptu, so unexpected, so senseless that she had no choice but to pour her full trust in it.

Georg found her eyes hypnotic in that moment, they became almost iridescent and pierced thickly through him like a blade.  
Although they were the only souls for miles on the coastline, they were nowhere near alone; one could simply look out any one of the hundred and one windows of the hotel and see them where they stood in the shallow tide. If she were any other woman, he was ashamed to say, he would have most likely attacked her by now. He would have found some way to lock them away somewhere and presumably have his way with her. But there was something about Agathe he felt he could not touch, that he would somehow soil her if he bedded her, if he even so much as kissed her, he would smear away a part of her that he loved so dearly.  
Was this true…did he love her? Already?  
It was so righteously ridiculous to think he could love a woman within a few hours of knowing her, especially when he found it almost impossible to love his own family within ages of knowing them.  
But it was the way she looked up into his eyes, the way she held to his arm, the way she followed him wherever he led her, so hopeful, so dependent, so trusting...  
He wanted someone like that. He could love someone like that. Someone he presumed he could control to an extent, but who had a mind of her own. And Agathe was in no way a marionette...this he knew well within just an hour of being in her presence.

So maybe he did love her...maybe he did not. Either way, the argument would prove itself insignificant within a few days time, of this he was certain - that if the latter were true, and he did not love her now, he was bound to love her in a matter of days, perhaps even hours. There were very few things in the world that could stop him once he had harnessed his momentum in a decided direction. This case was no exception. When his compass pointed North, he followed it to the ends of the earth. That was where Agathe stood.  
But like all things in life, no matter how momentous, he would have to begin with baby steps. The sooner he took that first step, the closer he was to finding out if she was to be a permanent part of his life.

"Come to dinner with me tonight." He was not asking. He was commanding. But he was careful to use a gentle tone, to which he was confident she would not refuse.

Her momentary look of moderate shock was quickly drowned with an expression of elation and slight disbelief.  
"Am I...allowed?"

He was not expecting her to ask this and he laughed aloud, whether from genuine amusement at her question, or plain gratitude that she had accepted, he was not sure.  
"If I say you are, then you are...after all, I do hold a commanding position, now. Do I not?"

Her eyes barely squinted as a beautiful grin crossed her face. "Perhaps, but there are still those who are in command of you, sir," she said as she playfully nudged his elbow.

"I have a feeling that will be the case for eternity," he admitted care-freely. She giggled flirtatiously, and sprinted ahead of his pace, turning back in the billowing white satin of her gown, taunting him to chase her.

He willfully took off after her, not noticing that for the first time, he did not feel the slightest swell of regret upon leaving the sea.


	5. A Knot That Cannot be Severed

**Chapter 5:**

** A Knot That Cannot be Severed **

* * *

Thousands of stars sprinkled across the sky, like a spilled jewelry box on an endless plane of indigo velvet. The sharp crescent of the moon, so slim it was nearly non-existent, reflected a thousand times over in the turbulent water outside the wall length windows.

"I can't believe you've been to so many places already!" Agathe said with impressed disbelief. "My father speaks of exotic lands all the time, but they don't sound nearly as interesting as when you talk about them."

"Well, I am only a few months shy of being twenty years old. I would venture to say that those men in your father's department where age is concerned don't, ah, get out as much." Georg explained slyly.

She caught his expression and inquired innocently, "And what would qualify as such an incident, sir?"

Georg considered her for a moment. "Well, I recall once when we were docked on a beach in Croatia, more than a few of the native young ladies told me they were really mermaids with the hopes that I would ravish them on the spot!"

Agathe gasped and covered her mouth, an utterly scandalized expression in her wide eyes. But when she lowered her hands, he saw that she was laughing with him.

"They all spoke fluent Greek you see -" he made to continue, but she cut him off.

"Oh but Georg, you didn't - did you?"

He was thrown slightly off guard by the genuine concern in her voice, the look of amusement that was suddenly laced with worry on her lovely face.  
Was she really afraid that he had?

"No, no of course not!" he amended, the passion in his tone enough to reassure her of his honesty, "After all, if I had, I fear they would have never left me." He couldn't resist.

She laughed heartily, covering up the slightest note of relief, her eyes regarding him with a tenderness that was greatly magnified in the soft amber glow of the candle in the center of the table.  
When she had recovered, she looked down, blindly fingering her napkin, the smile fading from her painted lips. "Sometimes I wonder how you all do it." Her voice was faraway.

"Do what?" he questioned softly.

She turned her gaze up to him, "Leave everything you love behind to fight for your country."

He shifted uncomfortably, preferring the back of his chair to be further back at the moment.  
He fastened his eyes to hers and answered clearly, "It's not so hard when nothing you love is being left behind."

Her eyes narrowed slightly in confusion. "You don't love anything back in Austria?... Or anyone?" Her tone was heartbreaking, even to his ears.

Speaking with a voice that did not falter, he defended himself calmly but firmly. "I do. I love Austria." he couldn't look at her, for fear that her glossy eyes were harboring unshed tears at his revelation.

"And your family..." she pressed gently, prying for his gaze that he would not give to her.

"My parents both passed away before I joined the Navy. It was my father's wish that I become what he became."  
There was a profuse pause, but Georg was surprised that he did not have to break it.

"I understand," she said softly, "He was in the Navy?"

"Yes. Along with his brother."

"Do you have any siblings in the Navy?" She asked tentatively. He could tell she was choosing her words carefully. Truth be told, he wouldn't have minded if she were blunt with him on the subject; it had grown less and less sensitive over the years. But she had no way of knowing what might cause him discomfort, and just for her regard for that fact, he was grateful.

"No, I'm an only child. But I have a cousin, Heinrich. He just finished training last month." He added, relieved that the mood of the conversation was turning to something more comfortable.

"I see...and your uncle?" She ventured solemnly.

"Consistent tradition...he was in the Navy as well. He holds a coast position now. I suspect he'll be retiring soon."

She smiled with some ease. "I suppose everything you would love is out at sea with you, then."

He nodded thoughtfully, "It's not as horrible as you imagine it."

Her eyes dimmed slightly.

"Being a soldier is - all about repression...restraint...keeping your feelings in check," He continued.

Her expression was completely unreadable as he spoke the words, something of defiance, but more so of awe filled her crystal iris.

"It's half the battle just to forget how to recognize emotion. But once you have been trained well enough, it becomes easier just to surge forward and forget.."  
He fell away from his train of thought, unsettled slightly by her examining gaze.

He wondered briefly if her own father had ever broken the truth to her so forwardly about it before. Of course her father was not part of the military, but he saw what happened on those ships; he was well aware of the suffering that was taken in gaining the rush of victory. Georg did not want to be the one who ruined her oblivion on the matter.

"But that's the way it should be," he said agreeably, trying to shake all doubt from his thoughts, "Someday I will retire and none of it will matter. It will affect me no longer."  
Deep down, he knew his words to be untrue, but he said them anyway, mostly for her sake. He did not want to make her upset on this night.

"I think it's admirable," She stated with a sureness that did not match her expression, "-what you're willing to sacrifice for your country."

His mouth twitched into an unsure smile and he mindlessly reached across the table to stroke the stem of his wine glass.  
Her eyes followed the curious gesture with a surreptitious intensity.  
"Sacrifice?" he whispered barely loud enough for her to hear.

"It takes a very brave person to do what you do." She pried her gaze from his fingers and looked into his eyes. "You never know what might happen to you..if you will even wake up the next morning."

He could see the fear brewing behind her weighty stare, and an instinctive urge overtook him to quell it as soon as possible.  
He shrugged, considering. "I see other men do it, and I realize if they have no fear, why should I?" He paused. "Even men like your father serve as a much needed inspiration to me."

She smiled sadly. "He would be honored to hear you say that."

"He knows. We're closer than you think." He said surely. It was the truth. John Whitehead was slightly eccentric when it came to his obsession with U-boats and torpedoes and blueprints, but this ironically made him more normal, more tangible than many of the other middle aged men, not to mention more entertaining to be around. He seemed to have no fear. He was confident in spite of himself, and never cared what the consequences were if he believed his actions to be right.

A subdued thrill suffused deep within his chest. How ideal that he was already on the best of terms with this girl's father. The convenience of it was enough to make one believe in fate. Perhaps something was to become of their relationship, serendipitous as it happened to be.

With a furtive smile, he stood up from his chair and offered her his hand. "I'll escort you back to your room."

She shivered at his soft tone and returned his smile as she let his hand close around hers.  
Georg walked with her into the lobby, thoroughly enjoying the numerous stares they summoned from onlookers.  
As they approached the back hallway, she stopped in her tracks, and he looked back to see her self-consciously clutch her middle, a mild look of terror on her face.

"What is it?"

"It's my...bodice. I think one of the laces has come undone." She breathed hastily, reaching behind her back to feel at the undone strings of her gown.

He smirked out of her view and moved to stand so that he obscured her back from anyone looking. "I'll get it." He whispered, efficiently hiding his amusement.

A suppressed breath escaped her as she felt his firm hands retie the bindings of her bodice. It was relentlessly intimate, the feel of his defined movements as he maneuvered the laces. Her heart started to pound. A harsh tug, a brush of his hand, a harder tug, a tight strain...

"There." His hushed voice met her ear as his warm breath fanned over the back of her neck.

"Thank you."

"Here we are." He announced with a sigh, not bothering to disguise his regret as he paused in front of the door to Agathe's suite.

"Did I _tell _you the room number?" She asked suddenly, looking at him in slight shock.

"Yes, of course, 134," he assured, laughing, "Remember, when we got on the lift?"

She shook her head airily. "No I don't."

He chuckled at her expression. "You told me."

"I'm just surprised you were able to find it so fast, it took me forever to find it the first day we stayed here, and every time after that it took even longer."

He laughed harder, struggling to keep the volume low in the quiet hallway.  
"I'm good at navigating." He said pointedly.

"Hm yes, well..." she stood with her back to him, and turned the key to unlock the door. "We'll see you find your way back to your room now."

"I'm not going back to my room, I'm going back to the bar." He said explicitly with a teasing smirk.

She made a face at him. "I'd invite you in for a while, but my family is most likely asleep, and I can see that this is your rather loud and obnoxious time of night."

He laughed again, genuinely impressed by her untiring humor. "In that case, I suppose I won't come back after I've been fully inebriated."

She laughed this time; he drank in the sound, trying to record every nuance in his memory. "What a pity, I should have liked to see such a sight."

"You may someday, Fraulein, I regret to say."

"I look forward to it."

"Hah."

"Goodnight, Lieutenant." She said quietly, leaning against the doorframe.

"Goodnight." He responded deeply.

She slowly closed the door, her catching smile imprinted in his eyes like the branded silhouette of the sun.

Agathe collapsed weakly against the door and listened as his footsteps faded through the hall; her hand absently went to the laces of her dress - the ones he had tied for her.  
She was disappointed to have to undo them so soon for bed. They felt far too tight...of course he was just a young man, what did he know about tying a woman's bodice? She felt her diaphragm strain to breathe beneath the bindings. Her heart pulsed wildly. Good Lord, they were so tight, so wonderfully tight around her waist...

"Aggie?" Her little sister's squeak yanked her out of her reverie.

"What?" She snapped, her voice unnaturally high in pitch.

"Where have you been?" The preteen asked crankily, with a yawn so abundant it covered the better half of her small round face.

"I...was hungry, I went to eat." She uttered casually. It was half-true, after all.  
She stood up, pretending to dust her dress off as she studied her reflection in the mirror.  
Thinking her sister was not watching anymore, she furtively turned to the side to better examine the tied laces behind her back.

"I'll get those for you -" the girl's footsteps neared her threateningly.

"No, it's alright Abigail, I've got-"

"Sheesh Aggie! Will you relax?"

A protest swelled inside her as she felt Abigail's little fingers prying fussily at the strings, loosening them with each pick.  
"Goodness, Agathe! Who have you been going to to have these tied?"

She swallowed. "...Eliza?" She offered lamely.

"What's going on, girls?" Her father's voice sounded from behind her.

"I can't get poor Aggie's laces to come apart, somebody's completely tangled them."

Agathe winced. "Hang on there, Aggie, we'll get you out." She watched her father's reflection come up behind her in the mirror. "Hm, let's see here."  
He narrowed his eyes as he fingered at the strings, then to her surprise, an amused grin came to his face. "Hah, I could swear this was an anchor hitch!"

Agathe's eyes shot open. "You wouldn't have had a sailor tie these for you, would you, Agathe?" Her father spoke completely in jest, but he didn't realize how close to the truth he was. She laughed weakly as he managed to undo them rather quickly.

"There you go, darling." He said as he let the laces hang at her sides.

"Father, teach me how to untangle them too!" Abigail begged energetically in her typical squealing voice.

"Go back to sleep." He said good naturedly as he waved her off casually, heading back to bed.

A wry smile crossed her face as she clutched the limp laces.

Anchor hitch indeed.

* * *

_**A/N:** In case you didn't catch the subtle meanings behind the idea of the sailor's knot, Agathe is symbolically Georg's anchor. His message is that he finds himself unable to leave the place where she is, just as an anchor prevents a sailor from moving his ship. Isn't he so clever? ;)_


	6. Below Deck

**Chapter 6: **

**Below Deck**

* * *

Agathe nestled herself further into her bed, fashioning a barricade out of quilts around her body.  
Her tired heart thumped restlessly as she remembered the way his eyes had glistened in the candlelight -eyes so terribly blue they would have made Neptune himself evaporate with jealousy.

She thought of him freely, with the darkness to protect her. How her pulse quickened when he sighed, how her stomach fluttered when he looked up quickly, how her breath caught in her throat when the light hit his profile, how her heart soared when he laughed.

It was exhilarating, and at the same time, even humbling that this one man could elicit such a reaction from her. And when she reminded herself that she barely even knew him...it just did not seem possible. Their brief meeting months before had somehow solidified their relationship in the present; it made everything that was happening now seem all the more right, as if it were planned...

She smiled helplessly and buried her cheek in her pillow, toying with her long hair as she stared out the window at the low tide. She hoped she might be spending more days with Georg von Trapp out in the sea.  
She let her eyes flutter closed as she listened contentedly to the distant waves along the shore, her dreams tainted with the gorgeous image of the man she was falling in love with.

The next morning, the faint call of seagulls woke Georg from his deep slumber. He grudgingly opened his eyes to adjust to the placid peach glow of the dull sun leaking through the half-curtained window. He sighed deeply as he turned to lie on his back and stretched his limbs, repressing a yawn. Somewhere, two floors below him, a young woman would be waking up soon as well. He smiled guiltily to himself as he imagined what she might be wearing as she slept...

Fighting to keep from falling back asleep, he refrained from getting too comfortable. After all, the days following on the ship would not be so luxurious, and he was not about to grow used to waking up after dawn.  
He bolted up into sitting position and shook the sleep from his head, running his hands through his tousled hair.  
He frowned tiredly as he pulled the sheets closer around his bare chest, protecting himself against the early morning chill.

Arthur's muffled snoring met his ears and he stole a quick glance at his friend's bright blond head stuffed expertly into his pillow.  
Georg emitted a soft snort of laughter at the sight and reluctantly extricated himself from the warm covers, with a practiced amount of discipline.  
He rummaged groggily through his bureau and collected a shirt, a jacket, and trousers, not bothering to check that they matched properly before he pushed open the door to the bathroom.  
He set his clothes down by the sink as he flicked cold water over his face in attempt to keep his eyes from going lidded.

Turning the faucet off, he thought for a few seconds, then shuffled back into the room to stand at the end of Arthur's bed.

"Arthur, you'd better wake up soon." he mumbled as loudly as his still hoarse voice would allow him. He gave the side of the mattress a solid kick and turned to leave.

"Just two more minutes, Captain!" His friend's voice croaked dizzily from under his pillow.

Georg's head snapped up to look back at the still steadily breathing lump under the pile of quilts. He laughed ironically to himself as he retreated into the washroom to run the shower.

_Foreshadowing, perhaps?_

The clamor of people talking and the clinking of utensils on ceramic grew louder as Georg made his way towards the hotel dining hall. Arthur rushed along beside him, running a comb through his ruffled blond hair, having the ever constant battle with trying to flatten it in the morning.

"Can you please tell me why we're always late for everything?" He asked hastily with the comb between his teeth, attempting to use both hands to crush his hair against his head.

Georg cast him a doubtful glance. "Hmm, let me think. It could be because you always sleep in - or maybe because you never carry a watch...or even-"

"Alright! I get it." Arthur interrupted irritably, giving up his fruitless efforts and stuffing his comb into his back pocket. "Damn, I'm starving." He announced more robustly than was appropriate as they made their way through the maze of tables.

Georg was less interested in what was adorning the buffet as he commenced his familiar search around the vast room.

"Hey, Trapp." Arthur called from behind a table filled with colorfully glazed danish. "Get a move on, will you? This might be the last time we eat like this."

Georg sighed and moved around the table, reluctantly grabbing a plate. Oddly enough his appetite was not begging for food of late.  
Turning to follow behind Arthur, he nearly crashed into a skinny young man with dark, slicked hair and beady eyes who had cut in front of him in the line.

"Max?" He inquired.

Max Detweiler turned to face his old schoolmate. "Holy hell, it's you." he muttered as he dug aimlessly through the bread basket.

"Holy hell, where did_ you _come from?" Georg retorted bemusedly, flipping the cloth napkin over the bread to prevent him from taking anymore.

"Why, Georg, are you trying to get rid of me?" he asked with a mockingly upset tone, "We just got here this morning, what's the problem?"

"Well, you missed the big ceremony." He commented flippantly.

Max paused to stare blankly at him.

Georg continued slowly, as though he were explaining something to a child, "You know - the whole reason everyone from the Austro-Hungarian Navy has congregated here for five days?"  
Still not convinced that he was enlightened, Georg pinched the lapel of his jacket that held his lieutenant's badge and shook it pointedly.

"Oh, of course! Congratulations!" Max muttered with the inherent happy tone he used so well.

Georg reached out and tapped the unfamiliar accessory on the young man's face. "You don't wear glasses." He said simply.

Max slid the frames back up the bridge of his nose and stared at his friend with an air of superiority. "Oh, they're non-prescription lenses. For university. They make me look smarter, no?"

Georg stared at him with a contemplative eye. "No, just smart." He remarked with a lilting air of consideration.

Max did not bother to comprehend his reply, either that or he chose to ignore it. He began piling two of everything on his own plate, and adding one of each item he picked out for himself onto Georg's previously empty dish.

Georg stared down at his quickly filling plate with a look of confoundedness. Why was it that everyone around him always seemed so famished? Had he himself been like that at one point as well? He couldn't remember the last time he was really hungry. Nothing seemed appealing to him, even if he was. He didn't care about anything...except finding her.

He again trained his wandering eyes on the crowded tables, searching for her face, confident that it would stand out even in a roomful of a hundred people.

"You wanna move your ass, kid?" Arthur complained as Max hurried ahead of him, stealing away the largest pastries from the tray.

Georg suppressed a laugh. Max was nearly five years older than them both, although Arthur had no way of knowing that. At first glance, Max's sniveling, awkwardly short appearance made him look not far out of his teenage years. Even Georg had trouble remembering that he was nearly finished with his years at college. The only reason he stayed in touch with him was because Max's mother had remarried an officer in the Navy. Max was mostly immature and even somewhat of a scatterbrain. For whatever reason, Georg realized, he seemed to be surrounded by immaturity and flakiness everywhere he went. Even Arthur, whom he considered to be among the sanest people on their crew, was a little off once in a while. It was especially frustrating when he felt that his commanding officers were out of sorts - at times, however rare, he even felt that his Captain didn't fully understand everything as much as he should. Perhaps that was part of the reason he found Agathe's presence so refreshing. He needed someone who was consistently rational; who matched his level of sensibility, but was not just another person he had to refer to as 'comrade.'

"Hold this for a second." Arthur ordered him, shoving a crystal glass of orange juice into Georg's hand. He did not look down as the weight of the object left his grip as quickly as it had entered.

"Thanks." Arthur's mutter barely penetrated Georg's subconscious as his peripheral vision caught the mesmerizing figure of Agathe Whitehead as she made her way across the room with unmatched grace. Her hair was pinned up elegantly, in the same way he had grown to recognize her by. She wore a gown of tangerine colored silk, veiled with cream-white lace. Somehow, perhaps just by coincidence, she always happened to be wearing the brightest attire out of everyone around her.

He was distracted to the point of hypnosis as he watched her interact with various people who entered her path. More than he would have liked happened to be male.

"Pardon me." The polite voice of a middle aged woman wrenched him out of his dreamlike state. He quickly moved out of her way and murmured an apology, but when he looked back up, Agathe had vanished.

"Who are you looking for?" His cousin Heinrich's drawl asked him tauntingly from behind. "The lady in the orange lace?" He offered deviously.

Georg did not have to turn around to see the self-confident smirk he knew was on his face. He probably would have socked him if it weren't for the presence of about a hundred or so other people.

Thinking it would give his cousin too great a reason to mock him forever if he corrected him by saying it was 'white lace over orange silk' he simply stared at him icily, and made his way over to Arthur's table without uttering a word. Sometimes it was the best thing to not speak in such situations - words could often get one into trouble, and Georg considered himself lucky that he was able to give the 'wordless stare' without seeming like a coward. On the contrary, he had been told many times that this proved to be his most intimidating technique. The aghast look on his cousin's freckled face revealed this to be truthful.

Arthur hardly looked up from his plate as Georg dropped into the chair opposite him. Georg imagined the expression on his own face must have looked very funny indeed as he watched his friend shovel food into his mouth.

"Why the hell aren't you eating?" he asked, his tone of serious concern unfortunately devalued by the fact that his mouth was packed with chewed up pancakes as he said it.

"I'm not hungry..." Georg trailed until he saw the staggered look on Arthur's face - his puffed up cheeks making him resemble a chipmunk caught with a winter's worth of chestnuts in his mouth. "..yet." he finished plainly.

Arthur looked relieved as he finally swallowed his mouthful. "Good... for a minute I was afraid you'd gone anorexic or something."

Georg let out a bitter laugh and he discreetly allowed his eyes to travel through the crowd again, reminding himself that she couldn't be far.

"Excuse me," a soft ladylike voice came from just behind his chair. Arthur looked up from his second Belgian waffle to gawk impudently at the woman standing behind Georg. "Could I borrow your comrade for a moment?" the familiar voice asked politely.

Arthur nodded stiffly, not even bothering to finish chewing his food. Georg smiled knowingly as he rose from his chair and faced Agathe.

"Borrow me." He said lowly.

Her shapely smile widened as she took hold of his wrist and directed him toward the windows where less people were seated. "I'd hoped you would be down earlier so I could dine with you again."

He was surprised by her forwardness. In a strange, secretive way, he supposed they were courting, but he had not expected her to be so... expectant of him.

Nevertheless he seized it as a sure sign of her interest and said apologetically, "Well, as you can see, I had to wait for my friend there to work up his appetite before we came down."

She giggled with glowing felicity. "Yes, that much is plain." She agreed with a glance back at Arthur.

"You see, he's already busy making love to his plate again." Georg tutted humorously and her crystalline laugh rang softly through his ears.

She gazed up at him, her disturbingly lovely smile creating that endearing crease in the left corner of her mouth. That smile implied that she was capable of bursting with elation at any moment. It was uplifting even to someone as unmoved as he usually tried to be.

She spoke in a tone that was lighthearted but demanded his attention. "Georg, I would very much like to see you again tonight." He almost laughed out loud with pure joy. She was making it so easy for him. He was practically relieved of all need to pursue her.

"The feeling is mutual, Fraulein."

She looked down almost shyly for a moment. "Then you will not refuse my request to be taken onboard a ship this evening."

He registered what she said, taking an inappropriately long time to do so because he had been tepidly preoccupied with staring at her mouth as the words passed from her lips.

"You would like to see the ship your father and I have sailed on?"

She gave a familiar series of quick little nods. The expectancy in her eyes was too much to refuse.  
"But it must be a secret, you see - or my father will be angry. He would never allow me to enter a military ship without his consent." She added slyly, lightly touching his hand - he noticed the tight lacy glove that went from her elbow to the end of her hand, leaving only the very tips of her thin fingers bare.

He nodded slowly before he realized what he was promising. "Very well." he said quietly, still partially mesmerized by her touch.

She practically squealed. "Thank you, Georg!" With her innocent exclamation she stood on her tiptoes and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek. He was unable to react in that moment, it had all gone too fast. He granted her a small smile upon seeing that her powdered face had acquired a rosy tinge.

"Aggie, c'mon - we're going for a walk with mother!" A small boy came running up behind Agathe and eagerly tugged at the material of her dress along her hip.

"I'll be right along, Michael." She whispered in a motherly way, shooing his hand away gently. The young boy gave Georg a cautionary stare, one that held a look of what could be interpreted as warning.

"Go on...scoot." she encouraged, giving his bottom a light push in the other direction.

As Georg expected, the boy glanced back at him, his babyish face stony. "He's rather protective of you." He commented, feeling a compressed admiration for the tyke.

"Hmm, we'll let that be your job from now on, shall we?" she murmured suggestively.

Georg swallowed with the same faint smile of disbelief on his face as she grinned almost wickedly at him and turned to follow the boy out the doors.

The evening couldn't come any faster.


	7. Overboard

****

**Chapter 7:**

**Overboard**

**

* * *

**

For a fleeting moment, he did not recognize her.

Her hair was down. There was a distinctly different look to her when she wore her hair loose, cascading over her shoulders. It fell in glossy, abundant curls that framed her face in a most becoming way. He noticed that a small portion of her hair was still pinned behind her head, tied with a pale blue ribbon.

She approached him in what he supposed had been her dinner dress. It was much too formal for her to have chosen it for the occasion...surely she realized that.

"You look lovely." He said honestly, no longer hesitant to be forward as she had plainly shown she was comfortable with earlier that day.

She thanked him with a winsome little smile, her thick lashes shading the clement pallor of her eyes. He caught the fragile whiff of her perfume and felt slightly dizzy.

"Perhaps a little too lovely for walking on the beach, though." He commented contritely.

She shook her head happily. "Are you joking, Georg? These are my casual clothes!"

He seized the moment for an excuse to scan her from head to toe. With a speculatively raised eyebrow, he shrugged. "It will have to do."

"I'm only a lieutenant, as you know, and still just of the middle grade too." Georg reminded Agathe as they argued mildly about the inter-workings of the naval ranking system.  
"Do you know how many years it normally takes for someone to become an Admiral?" He asked her ruefully, not waiting for her answer. He threw up his arms in exasperation as she only smiled tirelessly at him, "I don't know how we always end up talking about the Navy anyway! Is there nothing else that can hold your interest?" He asked suddenly, laughing with muted passion.

His eyes glowed a vibrant aquamarine color in the misty pink light of dusk and for a fleeting moment, Agathe felt she was in something of a living fantasy.  
"You will make a fine Captain someday, perhaps even an Admiral.." she suggested admiringly, ignoring his previous question.

He shrugged her off nonchalantly, though inside he was beaming with pride that she would say that to him. "If I last that long."

"Don't talk like that." She chided lightly, but her eyes were smiling. "Captain Von Trapp." She sighed majestically as she walked slightly ahead of his pace. "I quite like the sound of it."

"Admiral Von Trapp.." Georg corrected haughtily, straightening his jacket.

She cast him an arched glance, "I rather prefer the sound of Captain, myself."

He narrowed his eyes. What did it matter? He would most likely never get to claim either title. He might as well enjoy dreaming now - it may be the closest he'd ever get to the real thing.  
The sound of the men's rambunctious laughter grew louder as they neared the dock.

A crazed soldier who was obviously drunk to all corners tore across the sand past them, proclaiming chaotically, "The end is near!"

Georg looked over at Agathe, who appeared delicately shaken by the disturbing preview.

"Indeed. The beach merges with the dock just a few meters ahead." Georg added quietly to calm her nerves. Agathe swatted him playfully, but they both burst into sudden spontaneous laughter as his comment sunk in.

"Do you think you're properly prepared for what you might see, now?" He asked warningly as they approached the wooden ramp.

"I have no doubts." She said reassuringly, but tightened her hold on his sleeve slightly. He had to give her credit - she was not like other women. He laughed inwardly - she was either very brave or very naïve.

"Welcome aboard, then." He said unceremoniously as they joined the others by the docked ship.

"About time you joined us barnacles, Lieutenant!" A bearded sailor commented with a slap on Georg's back.

"Heh," Georg acknowledged the man feebly, aware that his dark eyes did not seem capable of looking in one particular direction.

"Who is that?" He heard Agathe ask slickly.

At first he thought her to be referring to the man who had just spoken to him, to which he did not have an answer. In fact, he wasn't even sure the man was on their crew, perhaps not even in the Navy...

But looking back at her, he saw her eyes trained on the one young man Georg would have preferred to leave out of their conversation.

He gave a light groan, "That's my cousin, Heinrich." He scrutinized Agathe's face as she watched his obnoxious fair-haired relative laughing it up with some of his newly recruited cronies.

"He's rather fetching if I do say so myself." She mused with a rapid, pointed glance at Georg's expression.

Georg contorted his face into a simpering grin and tilted his head, saying mockingly, "Oh yes...quite the 'Aryan angel,' isn't he?"

She scoffed in feigned distaste. "I was about to say it was obvious, seeing as how you've both sprung from the same gene pool, but I take it back."

He mimicked her scoff to an exaggerated degree and crossed his arms over his chest, "Good! I don't want it to be obvious that we share genetics."

She sighed in resignation, "Whatever you say."

Georg looked warily around at the other men, suspiciously aware that not one of them had shown any confusion towards Agathe's presence. Probably most of them were too drunk to realize anything was off.

"Hey, von Trapp - catch!" One of his comrades tossed him a dark red bottle of what appeared to be rum.

Agathe eyed the bottle with displeasure as he uncorked it. He smiled falsely at her and brought the bottle up to his lips. One second upon tasting the bitter drink, he repelled a mouthful of liquid, just narrowly missing Agathe face-on. A few of the other men laughed at his very out of character spluttering noises. Agathe braced herself against the wooden pole of the dock, her eyes wide with shock at his unexpected display.

"What the bloody hell kind of drink is this?" he shouted angrily, wiping his mouth repeatedly as he held the bottle a good distance away from him.

"Cherry cordial," One of the men answered simply, looking as though he was desperately holding back laughter.

"It's the strongest one they had at the hotel." Another man explained ineptly.

Georg made a sour face as he looked down at the offending bottle, regretting having not translated the Italian label before taking such a generous swig.

"Well, what were you expecting, _Captain Cabernet_?" Agathe asked tartly to him so that only he could hear. He thought of snapping back at her with 'That's _Admiral_ Cabernet to you, _darling_,' but instead he just glared at her.

"Unspeakable fruit," he muttered grumpily.

"So you don't like it, then, eh, Georg?" Heinrich asked, shamelessly slurring his words as he placed a limp hand on his cousin's shoulder, "Picky, picky."

Jerking the hand off his shoulder forcefully, Georg cast his cousin a look cold enough to freeze a desert oasis, and drawled frostily, "Satan himself couldn't concoct a more worthy welcome cocktail to hell."

Many of the men within earshot laughed heartily at his remark. Agathe couldn't help but laugh herself at the humor of the whole situation. It was not every evening she would find herself on the beach with a crew of drunken sailors, but with Georg by her side she did not feel the need to be overly cautious. She trusted him.

Heinrich mumbled tipsily, waving his hand in the air as though conducting an invisible orchestra, "_You're _a...cocktail to hell."

Georg sneered harshly at the blond boy whose incomprehensible sentences were punctuated by hiccups.

"C'mon..." he murmured to Agathe as he elbowed his way through the small crowd towards the ship before she could grab onto his hand.

A bedraggled looking redheaded man with an Irish accent yelped for her attention. "Oy!"

She looked back innocently, noticing a good percentage of the group was staring intensely at her. "You tell that spoiled brat of a boyfriend of yours that he'll be getting limited access to our liqueur stocks from now on!"

A few of his friends cheered clumsily, falling over each other as they passed around the discarded red bottle. It wasn't until a few moments later she realized he had referred to Georg as her boyfriend...

She gasped slightly as the familiar warmth of a strong hand grasped hers and dragged her up to the ship.  
"Georg...where are we going?" she asked with a giggle as it dawned on her.  
He looked back at her and smiled, looking unlawfully handsome as a loose lock of dark hair tumbled onto the side of his forehead. "You wanted to see the ship, didn't you?"

Agathe's carefree laugh reminded him once again why breaking the rules was so addicting.  
She listened to everything he told her and looked at everything he showed her with utter fascination.

He wondered why her father had never let her inside a ship before if she had been so curious. Then again, if he himself had a daughter as beautiful as Agathe, perhaps he would be hesitant to allow her on a military ship as well.

"Promise me something, Georg." She said seriously as she held to the rail on the bow of the boat.

He looked over at her curiously. "Yes..." There was no question to his tone. There was no need for it - he would not refuse a promise to her.

"Promise me that one day, you and I will have the chance to sail together." She looked up at him, "I've ridden on a modest number of luxury liners in my life, and have found them a painful bore." He chuckled and she paused to listen to the sound before continuing, "But now that I understand where this passion for the sea comes from, I would very much like to share that experience with the person who revealed it to me." She gazed thickly up at him, the deep blue haze that was customary during the time of high evening between dusk and darkness illuminated her colorless eyes in a staggering way.

He nodded calmly in submission. He found himself nodding often to many of the things this woman said.

Her pixie-like smile made his heart jump with realization. He was off the edge now. There was no turning back.  
The strange bond they shared was now pending confirmation by promised commitments.

But he was not fighting his involvement, not shying away from it like he perhaps, should have. He tossed aside all rationalities and focused entirely on catering to her every whim religiously.

"And just what sort of ship did you have in mind, Fraulein? Not a warship, I assume," He said teasingly.

She grinned with amusement "No, not a warship..." She trailed thoughtfully, but there was a knowingness to her voice that was all too palpable.

"What about a relationship?" He murmured before he could stop himself.

She stared at him with an unreadable smile on her face, but a smile nonetheless.

He arched his eyebrows just the tiniest bit, all but dissuading her.

He felt ashamed that he momentarily thought her to be speechless, but she of course, managed to speak at last, and quite eloquently at that, "Ah, but are you capable of navigating _that_ kind of ship, Lieutenant?"

He laughed appreciatively in response her laudable remark. "Fraulein Whitehead, have I given you any reason to doubt my capabilities thus far?" He questioned in a tone that would brook no denial.

She sighed and inched closer to him along the railing. "You haven't, officer."

She was dangerously close to him. It was ideally the moment he should have taken to kiss her, but before he could so much as invade her personal space, an outrageous uproar sounded from the dock.

Agathe veered her head around him to stare concernedly at the crew. Personally, he himself couldn't have cared less, but the noise was not ignorable anyway, and he reluctantly rushed back to the deck, helping Agathe gallantly down the ladder.

Although Georg was not in charge of every one of those men, he felt, in a sense, that he was partially responsible for handling their behavior to some degree. He was not about to let things get out of hand, especially not around a young woman.

"What the hell is going on?" he demanded gravely to the nearest man he could judge sober enough for understandable speech at first glance.  
The questioned man pointed to a blond boy lying on the side of the dock, clearly wasted.

Agathe gasped at the sight, but Georg kneeled down on one leg beside his cousin and struggled to sit him up. "Heinrich? Heinrich?" He practically shouted in his ear.

"Is he going to be all right?" Agathe asked worriedly above the clamor of drunken banter around her.

"I think so - we should get him out of here." He said as placidly as he could and made to grab both his forearms.

Agathe whirled around as a man behind her began pawing at her dress. He shouted a disgraceful obscenity as she stamped her heel forcefully down on his toes, then quickly ran to help an astounded looking Georg drag his cousin down the ramp and onto the beach.

Georg sat Heinrich's slack body up and peered into his boyish face as it muttered senseless rubbish, Agathe still supporting his shoulders from behind.

"Can you remember your name?" Georg pronounced clearly, staring hard into his floundering eyes.

"Humsmumblm..." Heinrich babbled under his breath as he attempted to return Georg's steady gaze.

"Come on now, tell me your name." He ordered, somehow able to make a forceful tone sound utterly calm.

"Hummm...Heinrich Von.. Trapp." He stuttered out miraculously. Agathe smiled in excited relief at Georg as he gently patted his back.

"He'll be alright - it's not the first time." Georg sighed and directed toward Heinrich kiddingly, "Right, comrade?"

Agathe felt herself warm unexpectedly at the sight of Georg caring so loyally for his cousin - He had been insulted by the mere insinuation that they resembled each other not an hour before, and suddenly he was showing an outpouring of genuine concern for the boy. It touched her deeply, and it said a lot about Georg as a person.

He looked up at her and she shifted her eyes away from studying his face.

Heinrich made an unpleasant moaning sound and fell forward slightly. "Easy, easy.." Georg said lightly as he straightened him up.  
A look of hollow understanding concentrated his features as he gently nudged Agathe's hands from the boy's shoulder.

Agathe watched in confusion as he moved aside himself and pushed Heinrich forward as the youth crawled on all fours towards the shoreline and wretched into the water. She clutched her stomach briefly, willed not to be sick herself, but the boy only coughed twice, and sat breathing heavily in the tide.

She fixated her gaze on Georg's profile, the sight complemented by the soothing sound of the waves calming her considerably.

Georg stood suddenly, breaking her daydream and fished through the sand where the discarded bottles of alcohol lay. He picked one up that appeared to be a quarter of the way full and handed it to Heinrich.

Agathe's eyes were wide until he explained to his cousin, "Rinse out your mouth - but for Christ's sake, do not swallow it."

Heinrich could barely nod as he emptied the bottle into his mouth and spit it back into the water, Georg watching him closely the whole time.

Agathe shifted slightly, unsure of how to sit in a ladylike position, in this dress, in the sand.

Georg reclaimed his place beside her, and laid languidly back, propping his head up on one elbow as he watched the waves strengthen under the night sky.

She smiled as the wind ruffled his dark hair - she was suddenly overcome by the urge to rake her fingers through the thick locks herself.  
Her heart pounced pleasantly as his bright blue eyes turned up to her.

"Forgive me," he said quietly, pulling himself up to sit straight. "It's not proper that you should stay out here - you should be back inside."

She smiled forgivingly. "I've stayed up well past my bedtime before."

"I won't hear of it, Fraulein." He said with a gentle smirk."You shouldn't lose sleep over me and my dumb dolt of a cousin."

She pursed her lips, unwilling to leave him now, no matter how tired she might have become.

"We'll see each other tomorrow." He said positively.

She cocked her head and smiled fleetingly. "Alright."

"Goodnight, then." He murmured as they rose to their feet. "I'd offer to walk you back, but it appears I already have an escort of my own."

She chuckled as she regarded his blond cousin absently scooping up wet sand in his hands like a fascinated toddler.

"He'll be fine." Georg reassured softly.

She swallowed and whispered courteously, "Goodnight." She proffered her hand.

He accepted it humbly and held it briefly, but still did not kiss it, "Goodnight Agathe."

Her fingers trembled as she heard his hushed voice say her name. He let go of her hand and she turned to walk back to the hotel.

When she reached the top of the long staircase that led from the beach to the veranda, she looked back to the shore where Georg was standing beside the sitting form of his cousin, looking protectively down at him.


	8. Duty Calls

**Chapter 8:**

**Duty Calls**

* * *

Georg tossed under the covers of his bed, listening to Arthur's disturbing blather.

Earlier in the evening he had been impressed to see that his friend was not a part of the hearty percentage of the crew who had gotten drunk.  
But now he regretted it, for had he taken to bed as solidly as Heinrich had, Georg would not have to hear his stream of complaints upon discovering his briefly secret infatuation with Agathe.

"I don't like what this woman's done to you Georg."

Neither did he...oh, what was he thinking? He loved it.

"You're frightfully out of sorts, you know. I hardly know you anymore."

It was true, it was not his place to be in denial of such things.

"You're a completely different man - you're...sympathetic, you're senseless, you're obsessed!"

Agathe had ruined him. God Almighty, she had destroyed him.

"Don't you realize what you've done to yourself?"

What _had_ he done?

"You've gone off and mutilated your chances of being a good soldier - you'll never forget her now..."

Asleep. Couldn't he just be asleep already?  
Georg stuffed his pillow onto his face and held it there with his hands, seeing how long he could last without breathing.

"I mean, I am shocked that you of all people let this happen." He could still hear Arthur's muffled scolding from the other bed.  
Twenty seconds.  
"Now, someone like Heinrich, I can understand -"  
Twenty-five seconds.  
"Hell, maybe even me -"  
Thirty seconds.  
"Oh, what am I saying? I'm not a bloody fool -"  
Thirty-seven seconds.  
"Then again, I never thought you were either..."

Oh good God, when did that kid know to shut up?

"Maybe all hope is lost. I don't care - it's not my problem, it's yours."

Forty-five. Forty-six. Forty-seven. Forty-eight. Georg gasped, flinging his pillow aside and sucked in a heavy breath.  
He knew he could hold his breath so much longer, for minutes even. It struck him as strange that it was so much easier to do it only when he was immersed with water.

"That's right, you should be keelhauled." Arthur announced, mistaking Georg's outburst to be one of frustration with himself. Maybe it was.  
"That isn't still legal, is it?" Arthur mused nervously, and Georg suppressed a bitter laugh. It was where _he_ was concerned.

The sunlight pouring through his window the next morning seemed like the kiss of death. Something felt amiss, but Georg couldn't pinpoint what. He shifted beneath the sheets and involuntarily drifted back to sleep.

"God damn it, Greimler, Von Trapp!" He heard a harsh voice of someone robustly banging on the door, "Get up now, or you'll find both your families hanging from the chandelier!"

Georg sprung out of his bed, and bolted for the dresser, tossing his clothes out to find something appropriate to wear. Then he stopped suddenly, realizing that the Captain would not wake him so fiercely unless it was an emergency.

He opened the door to the hallway, finding it bustling with the rest of the crew, all in various states of dress in their uniforms.  
Feeling awkwardly out of place as he was still shirtless, he opened his mouth to ask a passing boy what was going on.

Before he could speak, the thundering bellow of the Captain interrupted his unformed words, "Damn it, von Trapp! I told you to get your ass out of bed twenty minutes ago!"

"Yes, Captain!" He tried to amend, but his voice betrayed him, being still weakened by sleep.

The Captain came up, only a foot away from his face and said in his famously dark, stiff voice, "Then go get your fucking uniform on."

"Yes sir." He waited until the Captain's burning brown eyes left his face before retreating into his room and throwing the covers off of Arthur's bed.

"Hummmph!" Arthur moaned defiantly, clinging childishly to his pillow.

"Get up, you idiot!" Georg hissed in frustration, tossing Arthur's boots against his bottom.

"Huh?"

"It looks like we're leaving port early - some kind of alert." He guessed as he buttoned his jacket in record time.

"Ugh. This better not be another bloody drill." Arthur groaned as he pulled himself out of bed.

"How barbaric of them to kick us out like this without even letting us poor bastards eat first." Arthur cursed just above a whisper to Georg as they jogged down to the dock where the ship was nearly ready to depart. They rapidly organized themselves by rank, Arthur refusing to cease his constant griping to anyone around him with a pair of ears. Georg stifled a grin - he really was a pain in the ass when he didn't have breakfast.

"I'm so hungry. So hungryyyy." He whined, rubbing his stomach fiercely, "I'm sooo fu-"

"Attention!" The Captain barked, and immediately, the officers turned to face their left, arms straight at their sides.

Georg stood stiff as a board as the Captain passed him and eyed him threateningly, a look much more pointed than he had given when inspecting every other man before him.  
Georg boldly returned the stare with a furrowed expression of utterly amused confusion, his mouth opening slightly in what could be considered a perfect cross between a wince and a gape of shock.  
As the Captain walked out of his field of vision, Georg rolled his eyes and drew himself up slightly, smirking to himself.

"What did you do to make him so ecstatic?" Arthur whispered from behind him.  
At least he had been distracted from his hunger pains.

The morning had been so hectic, Georg had not realized that he wouldn't even have the chance to say goodbye properly to Agathe.  
Did she know they were leaving? Her father was not anywhere to be seen...Had they left without him? Had he been taken to a different ship?

Georg had so many unanswered questions. Everything happened so fast, and he couldn't remember where the morning had ended and the evening began. All he knew was that now he was back onboard a moving ship, heading west. He hadn't even bothered with himself to recall their destination or why they were leaving so suddenly.

Arthur had been right. This was bad. It hadn't even been twelve hours that they were back on duty and he was already losing his mind.  
He had to push all thoughts of her away; just as he had before, for everyone else he had an attachment to. He had to distance himself...

God, why was it so hard to do what he had been doing quite expertly for five years?  
Something about her forbade him from forgetting her. Something about her haunted him mercilessly.  
She was so...

"Lieutenant!" The ruthless call of an officer broke him away from his thoughts. "Assemble your men, we're approaching enemy lines."

This was going to be a long few months...

There had been few days during their first month back at sea that Georg had gotten around to resting for more than several hours. He was lucky that Arthur was energetic enough to back him up when he needed it, but as a newly named commanding officer, there was a lot on his plate and a just short amount of time given to consume it.

There had been one night amidst the chaos of sleepless days where Georg had finally had the chance to have a full night's rest.

As fate would have it, however, he did not gain a wink of slumber.

With nothing to preoccupy the better part of his mind, he spent the full 8 hours, pining for that graceful beauty he had not so long ago. Days filled with endless fighting, recalling tactics, and giving orders had given him an outlet that he hadn't known he had been using for an entirely different advantage. Days filled with thoughts of _everything but_ her inevitably gave way to a night filled with thoughts of _nothing but_ her. He wanted to throttle himself for making a stupid infatuation seem like something out of some dramatic, gun-to-the-head romance novel, but his brain seemed to want no less of him. And neither did his body.

Good Lord, how long had it been since he'd succumbed to this? That growing need that became something he could not ignore, much less control, no matter how good at suppressing such frustrations he had trained himself to be.  
That night that luxurious pressure in the pit of his stomach had returned for the first time in what seemed like years; it had become a thriving force again - an entity all its own.  
It pushed him and pleaded with him to be sated. He hated himself for that sensation - hated himself for that crippling feeling of insufferable longing.  
The presence of a woman was something he had grown used to living without. He had even thought himself, in his naïve superiority, to be immune to that feeling. He was above all needs that he was told only a woman could suppress.  
With some amount of regret, he came to realize that tortuous night that he could not have been more wrong in his assumptions.  
The one night made him never wish for a single extra hour of rest ever again.

At the beginning of the second month, they docked at an admittedly dodgy port off the coast of the island of Susak.  
There had been several humorous warnings not to mingle with the natives, one of which was followed by a cleverly, if not inappropriately crafted song describing just how primitive the life for the people of this island was, compliments of his very own Arthur Greimler.

Georg had sustained himself off of his friends' immature amusement, although sometimes even he had to admit it was witty as hell, especially when Arthur was involved. It kept him from reminding himself of the things that he had left behind...

It was the unsuspecting port of Susak that had brought a new beam of hope into his life. After a particularly hard day of loading crates and weapons from ship to ship, who should emerge from the shadows, but the stalky silhouette of John Whitehead himself. He went on and on about something he had discovered with regards to a modern missile, some wild banter about how it was going to be the next step in nautical weaponry. But all Georg could do was stare at him with a stupefied smile of disbelief on his face; never before had he felt so happy to see someone.

Georg humored the man by listening to his theories on his newly invented weapon, and how the new U-boats would become the primary power of the modern Navy. His interest was merely out that simple fact that he was related to Agathe; that somehow if he spent enough time around him, he would be ensured that Agathe's presence was not as unreachable as he had feared.

It seemed John was mutually happy to share his time with Georg. It never occurred to Georg that it was because of his own relations to his daughter that he preferred him above the other crewmembers...of course it may have had something to do with the fact that Georg was the only man who bothered listening to more than a minute's worth of his eccentricities. Nevertheless, Georg himself was brought up among those who proved eccentric, at least in his opinion. A healthy dose of maniacs in your home never failed to guarantee an interesting childhood. In fact, he profoundly believed that he owed his own unmovable rationality to the folie'd energies of his relatives.  
He smiled ironically at the yapping man buried behind the scrolls of blueprints.  
It seemed the case was true with Agathe as well.

"So this is where the torpedoes would be launched?" Georg questioned, half-interested, pointing at a spot on the blueprint laid out in front of them as they sat in his cabin.

"Yes…" He smiled kindly at Georg, clearly impressed to some degree. "You're a good man, von Trapp. You were born to be at sea. There's an instinct you possess that not many other men do, despite training."

Perhaps he wasn't so absent-minded after all, Georg mused inwardly.  
"You're a rare breed yourself, sir, if I may say so."

John laughed heartily. "That's what they tell me."

Georg had thought he had been close to John even so far back as before they had arrived at Gateshead. He had grown more and more like a father to him over the many weeks he had the privilege of spending with him on the same ship. He had proved to be a much appreciated counterpart and made the tiring weeks go by somewhat faster with his enterprising nature.  
Georg would never admit it to anyone but he was immensely flattered when John had asked him to help with his complicated diagrams. John had aided in tackling a few problems of his own and it was the least he could do as his comrade.

The often bleak atmosphere of war was something of a worn novelty when he was working with John. It was another outlet that he could harness his constructive control into.

One early morning as they were working under deck, John said conversationally to Georg, "My daughter Agathe seems to have taken a liking to you."

Georg stared at him, stunned out of speech.

"She told me you two spent some time together while we were at the convention a few months back." he explained, seeing his taken aback expression.

"Oh, yes, she's a wonderful girl...er, young woman." Georg remarked, feeling the heat rise to his face. He busied himself with tracing around a protractor, trying to ignore the feel of John's eyes on his every move.

"I'm pleased you think so; she speaks very highly of you."

"I'm glad to have met her, sir."

John's eyes were glassy with thought as he looked Georg over again, contemplatively.

"I wonder -" he began, and Georg looked up. "-if you would be so indulgent as to come meet my family when I return to Klosterneuburg at the end of the season. It would be my honor to introduce you - and your relatives as well - to all of them."

There it was - the invitation. He was asking him and his family to come to his home so that he could introduce them all. If Georg was not being fooled by his own eager mind, it was quite clear that John was taking the first step toward setting him up with his daughter.

"Of course." Georg said, efficiently suppressing his elation, "I would... love to, sir. If it wouldn't be too much trouble, I could bring my aunt and uncle - they are my legal guardians."

"A capital idea!" John exclaimed with all the unshed excitement Georg was hiding beneath his casual demeanor. "And of course you should bring that charming lad Heinrich as well - he is your cousin, if I'm not mistaken?"

Brilliant. Already Heinrich was weaseling his way into his affairs, and it wasn't even his doing. He knew there had to be a catch.

"Yes, sir. He is." Georg answered discreetly, making sure not to give clear consent that would lead John to invite him.

"Good! Then it's settled. I'll make all the arrangements - I expect by mid-June - we'll spend the summer holiday together." The man rolled the large blueprints and stuffed them into his brown leather work case.

Georg sat by himself for a few moments to mull over what had just happened. Was he really going to spend the first weeks of summer with Agathe? It seemed too good to be true.  
He didn't deserve such good luck.

All that time, not having to search for her presence amongst crowds of people - he would be practically alone with her.. for three weeks. Just them - and their families...

He tugged blindly at his collar. It really was too hot below deck on this ship.


	9. Reunions

**Chapter 9:**

**Reunions **

* * *

Agathe leaped onto her mattress with a squeal of joy.  
Months of worrying endlessly of both her father and Georg had become too much to bear.  
By tomorrow afternoon she would see him again. He would be with her, in her house, sleeping under the same roof as she..

Her heart pulsed excitedly as she settled under the covers.  
Her constant chatter of him to her father had had just the effect she'd planned for.  
If everything she hoped for panned out, she will have clinched a solid relationship with Georg von Trapp, if not, a marriage.

She grinned into her pillow as she thought of having him as her husband. He would be the perfect husband - obviously for herself, but also perfect for making the other girls of her finishing school jealous. And they had made such a huge fuss over Lucille Hallett's fiancé when she had gotten engaged...wait until they saw her prince of the Navy...

Her husband...Agathe had never been fond of the idea of having children, but marrying someone like him...well that changed everything. She would give him a dozen children if he asked her to. The more she thought about him in a marriage with her, the more impossibly elated she became. There was something so alluring about a man in the army. He was obviously very brave to put his country before himself. And thinking of him tying all those complicated, fanciful little sailor's knots...she giggled naughtily.  
She was determined that nothing would keep them apart now. Once she had him to herself, he would be hers and hers alone.  
-

Georg leaned his head against the glass pane of the car window and watched the speeding scenery of the Austrian countryside. He was having a difficult time dealing with his uncharacteristic nervousness. He shifted in the passenger seat, casting a wary glance toward his uncle at the wheel to make sure his eyes were trained on the road.

Turning his eyes back to his lap, he discreetly withdrew a thin silver chain from his pocket. He had purchased the necklace when his family had stopped in Vienna on their way to the Whitehead's home in Klosterneuburg. He planned to give it to Agathe when they got there.

He had known it was the one he wanted the second he laid eyes on it in the display case. The pendant it held was stunning, but not in a gaudy or tacky way like the ones around it. At the center of the chain was an elegant silver design of symmetric swirls, dropping from it a stunning pear-shaped opal, surrounded by tiny shimmering diamonds. The hypnotic stone had reminded him strongly of Agathe's eyes and the way they changed color in the light. Absorbed with its unsuspecting beauty, he decided he could not leave the shop without it. The woman behind the counter had eyed him doubtfully when he had indicated it as the one he intended to purchase. Clearly there were many more extravagant pieces of jewelry to choose from, why would he choose that particular one? Or perhaps her look had been one of uncertainty that he could manage to pay for one, being so young. Obviously the sun shined upon him where money was concerned - so much so that he would have developed a grand sunburn had the metaphor been real. He could have easily gone for one of the ten pound wreaths of diamonds that he believed were made with the intention of choking the wearer and blinding the onlookers. But that did not seem appropriate for Agathe. She did not need a sheet of flashing gems to make her beautiful. He had chosen the opal one for a special reason, and it was indeed beautiful, but it would not distract from her beauty for that was impossible. Nor would it enhance her beauty for that would be superficial. It would merely complement her beauty. That was his only intention. It was the first time in his life he had walked out of the jewelers with an actual purchase in his hand.

Distractedly, he studied the plated opal in the rays of the sun, repeatedly stroking the pad of his thumb over the smooth rounded surface of the modest stone. The chain felt so delicate in his hands - he loved the way it teased his sensitive skin as he slowly lowered it in a waving line across the center of his palm, rather like writing with icing on a cake. If a man like him could find that necklace so entrancing, a young woman would find it swoon-worthy.

"This is the street." His uncle mumbled as he turned onto a residential road lined with impressive looking homes spaced widely apart.

Hastily, he stuffed the necklace back into his pants pocket with a cursory motion. He knew it was not the most sensible place to keep such an expensive item, however it was the only place unassuming enough for his relatives not to know he had bought it. It was meant to be a secret that he was fond of Agathe, after all, and that would be their first suspicion had he let them see the bag or the case with the designer name on it.

Georg's heart pounded as the car pulled up around the governor's driveway. It was only a matter of minutes now, he thought to himself.

Or seconds.

Not a moment after he had shut the door to the car, he saw her angelic figure on the top of the steps looking even more graceful than he had remembered. She wore a summery pink gown that hung loosely about her smooth shoulders, and her hair was properly coiffed as she had worn it at the ball. Her eyes were searing with joy as she watched him ascend the stairs toward her. That smile - that bewitching smile was just as he had remembered it, only brighter and even more captivating as she stood in the sunlight.

Her father came out of the door behind her and welcomed Georg's aunt and uncle warmly as two servants picked up their suitcases.  
Around them, introductions were being made but neither of them could tear their gaze away from the other. It was so utterly ridiculous that there was not even reason to be embarrassed.  
It was as if they were part of some rehearsed scene in a play and everyone around them was acting, setting them up for what they all knew was to come. The families retreated into the house, chattering away, ignoring the couple completely as if they were the least important part of the trip.

She stared at him mesmerizingly - had he gotten even more mature looking, or was it the cruel tricks of worn memories that plagued her mind? He gave her that familiar lopsided grin that she had missed so dearly, and she felt her face flame. His blasted eyes were so alarmingly bright blue - looking into his eyes was like having hot water poured all over her body.  
"How do you do, fraulein?"

She felt her stomach plummet. She'd forgotten how deep his voice was. They backed into the now empty foyer - their families must have all migrated to the parlor already.  
"You've been elevated again." She said softly enough that her voice would not echo in the cathedral ceilinged room, bringing her fingers up to reverently trace the colored badges over his heart.

"Lieutenant Commander." He confirmed barely above his breath.

"I see you're decorated with more than just war honors," she whispered, caressing the pink crescent-shaped gash on the inside of his wrist.

His breath caught in his throat as her sparse touch held him stock-still in his place, utterly spellbound.

"Does it still hurt?" she breathed as she slipped her fingers coyly under the cuff of his sleeve.

His heart hammered vigorously as his eyes became fixated on her plush red lips.  
"...No" He responded, the rich strain in his voice shocking even him. The look in her opalescent eyes at that moment all but begged him to do it now. He knew something inside of him would burst if he denied it any longer.

With unsurpassed gentleness, he carefully circled his hands around her slender neck and pressed his lips against hers.  
In a wonderfully frightening moment all memories of his past, well-rehearsed nautical terminology, the letters of the alphabet, and even his own name were hurled from his head - what was left behind was fleeting but glorious, blissful obliviousness.

He was not expecting them to escalate to this moment so quickly upon his arrival. But it had come inevitably, as it should have, in the palms of fate's gentle hands.  
His lips moved along hers so naturally, artfully even. There was only the exhaustively intimate sound of their shallow breathing as they curiously familiarized themselves with the other's mouth.

So this was what kissing was supposed to feel like. Not at all how he had remembered it being as an awkward teenager.  
Up until this moment in his life, Georg had shockingly only ever kissed one other female on the mouth.  
She had been a porcelain doll of a girl named Babette whom he'd met while on holiday with his aunt and uncle in Paris back when he was just fourteen.  
She was a year older than he and she had asked him.  
It was what boys and girls did in Paris, she had told him.  
So he had willingly obliged, still in the newfound stage of his life where he was hopelessly devoted to being a gentleman in all situations. He recalled the very syllabic pattern of her syrupy French as she told him sweetly that she would teach him how to kiss properly the next morning.  
He had begged his aunt to leave the city that night. And so they hopped on the first available train to finish their vacation in Normandy, and he never did get to learn the proper French technique.  
It was not long after the incident that he had been sent off to the Naval Academy where French kissing was thankfully not a part of basic training. There were no girls with whom to practice during his long, arduous years in military school.

He smiled wickedly to himself against Agathe's dewy lips - perhaps he could teach Babette a thing or two now.

The way he was used to his heart beating had fluctuated. It was not rapid as he initially thought it to be; contrarily, it beat at a rather sluggish pace. But each throb was so painfully turbulent, hitting so hard against his ribcage he feared his bones might break from the force.

The music of their uneven breaths was cut short by his hushed utterance of her name. His voice was tender and hoarse. He saw her delicate features were contorted exquisitely into an expression of pained desire and her face was flushed to the color of rich rose. The sight of how he had affected her caused a sharp, unexpected heat to fill his groin.

A panic arose within Agathe's chest as he drew away from her briefly, followed by intense gratification as he fastened his hands about her waist, holding her selfishly against his body. His lips recovered hers hungrily, and she clutched his shoulders, reacting indecently to the sound of his husky breathing. Soft tendrils of tickling hot desire filtered through her middle and branched outwards to the ends of her limbs like a fertile vine, causing the ends of her fingertips to sizzle. The sensation came in violent spasms as he strengthened the kiss, but it was frustratingly fleeting. She whimpered unconsciously as he carefully penetrated her mouth with his tongue, the feeling seizing her fully for one precious minute - and instead of taunting her with its tortuous waves, it consumed her coming full force, searing, swelling, overflowing.

Not even the men in her dreams could kiss her this way, she thought drunkenly, as she wrapped her hands possessively around his hot neck. About to eagerly run her fingers through his hair, she stopped abruptly and they both tore apart from each other as the sound of the doorbell caused them to jump.

"Oh..." Agathe sighed, hardly able to summon her voice at the ill chain of events that jolted her nervous system.

"I should leave - are you going answer it?" Georg murmured, still recovering from his labored breathing.

The bell rang again. "Why.. I mean - yes! I'll get it." She stumbled over her words, so bewildered by all that had just happened. She watched him back into the hallway, and leave her in the foyer. She stood slightly off-balanced, still pulsing with the effects of the intimate act.

Gathering up her composure, she gracefully opened the door and was thoroughly confused to see Heinrich's freckle-faced grin staring back at her. "Wha..." She trailed breathlessly.

"I just wanted to see what it sounded like." He said plainly, not taking notice to her disheveled appearance.  
With that, he waltzed back down the front steps and onto the lawn.

Perhaps Georg was right about his cousin after all.

Inside the parlor, Georg and Agathe reluctantly regrouped with the others, Agathe taking the opportunity to introduce him to her sister, her brother, and her mother. The younger boy and girl eyed him warily, unwilling to warm up to him quite so quickly. Although he had no siblings of his own, Georg imagined it would be understandably upsetting to have some strange man enter the life of their older sister without their notification. He was confident that Agathe could convince them to learn to like him, if anyone.

Contrarily, Agathe's mother Odelle seemed excessively pleased upon meeting him. She was nice, almost a little too nice for his taste, but he was not used to the odd way middle-aged women tended to act in general. His aunt Monica was the only one he had spent any amount of time around growing up, and she was the absolute exception if there ever was one. She was, to put it lightly, unaware of many of the complicated dealings of life that other women of her age so often complained about to each other. This made her easy to be around, especially for him. Georg reckoned that had he been raised by any other woman, perhaps even his real mother, whom he had only known until he was ten years old, he would have been quite disturbed as a teenager indeed.

After he met the rest of her family, Georg made sure that Agathe was properly introduced to his aunt Monica and his uncle Albrecht. They were notoriously easy people to get along with; everyone said so. However, if there was to be any problem during the entire trip, it would be Heinrich.

He laughed bitterly to himself as he recalled Agathe once saying Heinrich was cute.  
It was the damnedest thing, but it was not the first time he had heard a girl say that about his younger cousin.  
It seemed Heinrich typically attracted much younger, even preteen girls while Georg had overheard women old enough to be his own mother commenting on what they would do if only he were their age.

Nevertheless, he was certain anyone could learn to love Agathe. She was impossible to ignore in her supreme elegance.

The bittersweet effects of their kiss returned to him in a rush of sensations as Agathe locked his gaze from a few feet away while his aunt fussed over her dress. It was heart-wrenching to remind himself that he only had a few weeks with her, before he would be back on the sea again.

He did not want to leave the Navy, but his devotion to Agathe had made him question his place for the first time - and he wondered if he had chosen the right path in life, if he would have preferred to be somewhere safer instead of always in the face of mortal danger, always on the run.

"Oh, my Agathe has a lovely singing voice. She has sung in many local concerts, in fact." The proud voice of John Whitehead awakened Georg to full awareness, and he briefly wondered what sort of conversation he had missed that led them to this.

"I imagine so." Georg said, directing his gaze toward her, surprising himself with how quickly he had conjured the words. Agathe looked down bashfully.

"You'll have to sing something for our guests, darling." John suggested casually. Agathe stared piercingly at her father with a sudden look of slight horror that Georg found irresistibly endearing.

"Oh not now, not now, of course...when you're ready." Her father confirmed hastily, noticing her fearful discomfort.

"Oh, that would be delightful, I look forward to it." Monica commented kindly, and Agathe's expression softened.

Georg noted her shy glance in his direction and he spared her the embarrassment by pretending not to have noticed.

Somehow Georg felt he had already known very well that she sung, although he could not recall her ever telling him full out that she had.  
It was simply something he had known internally about her. He guessed it was because her speaking voice was so smooth and enchanting to begin with; even her laugh hinted at the musical range in her vocals.

Anyway he was not in the least bit surprised by her being a singer. She was obviously intelligent, and in his opinion, that automatically made her capable of nearly any other talent one could name.

It was interesting; the talk of her singing had caused an assumingly repressed memory to resurface in his head.

He had sung with his own mother when he was quite young. There was a piano, he remembered vaguely, and she used to play simple melodies on it as he followed each note with elementary lyrics. He had to have been no more than five years old. He wondered why he had only now recalled it.  
Georg did not consider himself the type of man who sung, and although he was musically learned in both the guitar and the piano, he had little to no opportunities to embrace his talents in the instruments, as busy as he was with his job.

As far as singing was concerned, the last time he had done so was on an occasion incredibly less notable than a local concert. In fact, he had been drunk, if he recalled correctly. It had only been the next morning as he was tending to a particularly brutal hangover that one of the other sailors had come to him and told him that for singing while inebriated, he wasn't half bad. Although one sailor wouldn't have convinced him that it was a potential talent of his, there was another such incident when he hadn't even graduated from the academy yet, where he had been mocking an Italian opera star over the wireless radio in a store once. Arthur was with him, and he had been belting out phony Italian gibberish as a joke to make his friend laugh. The shopkeeper had told him he should audition for a part in the opera himself, and that he was not kidding.

In short, he did not know for sure whether or not he could actually sing. Music had never been a very present force in his life, and the two situations in which he had gained praise had incidentally been the only two situations in which he had attempted a tune - The more recent of which he did not even remember.

Well, he would have to get pretty drunk for someone to convince him to sing while here. Nevertheless, he had to admit he was slightly curious about his ability. Although singing in the shower while he was alone would give him no answer as to whether or not he was worth listening to. He would have to have a separate party tell him...Perhaps Agathe, if he was brave enough.

"Oh goodness, look at the time!" Odelle cried with a glance at the clock, "Shall we adjourn to dinner?"

Heinrich threw Georg a malicious grin as he reseated himself opposite him at the dining table. He mouthed something silently to Georg, shielding with his hand to prevent anyone else from reading his lips.

Georg squinted in intense puzzlement - whatever words he was attempting to form with exaggerated gestures looked suspiciously like 'mouth wash.' And no matter how many times he repeated it, Georg couldn't help his mind from reading the same words, 'mouth wash,' overly drawn out.

Shaking his head in defeat, Georg turned his attention back to the more pleasant sight of Agathe seated primly beside him. He loved the way her profile moved as she laughed; her every defined movement he found spellbinding. The clear quality of her eyes had offered one the chance to see every color of the spectrum in them depending on the light - that was something he could definitely keep himself busy with. He hadn't really noticed her nose before; it had a childish perk at the tip, although it looked somehow more intelligent that way compared to the pinched, narrow noses that women for some odd reason desired.

"You don't say!" Albrecht's exclamation interrupted his study time, "What, you mean you let your daughter travel _alone _to Gateshead?"

"Oh! No indeed, sir!" Agathe clarified before her father could respond, "My uncle took me with him when we went to visit my father."

"Oh." Albrecht said happily, not needing much to be satisfied. He contentedly stuck his fork into his plate.

Monica scoffed at her husband, "And what's this about Gateshead being such a horrific place, then, Albrecht?"

Here we go, Georg thought regretfully. It was truly remarkable, the way he could recite every one of their arguments line for line, despite how little time he actually spent at home. A stranger would think them to be a couple that argues constantly - and while this might be true, they only argued about the same subjects repeatedly. It was quite tiring, but they insisted on allowing everyone they met to sample from their motley but limited assortment of what he and Heinrich liked to call 'banter a la pointless.'

"Oh nothing, Moni," Albrecht began in a sarcastically good-natured tone, "just the bribery and the bootlegging and the street filth that infests the entire island, to say nothing of the ghastly weather-"

She interrupted importantly, tossing her fork down with a clink and puffing herself up in her chair, "Oh please, we don't want a stroll through 'Dramatica', you old fool - I thought it was a lovely place."

"Psh, lovely indeed." He mumbled barely under his breath.

Georg was surprised to see Agathe pipe up conversationally, admiring her boldness at entering the less traveled confines of their argument. "Well, I have been told it's not exactly the most humane of islands, but I'd like to go back there someday. I feel there's much I haven't had the chance to see there."

Georg knew as well as his aunt and uncle, that was an understatement.

Before Albrecht could have a second to put forth his opinion, Monica flashed Agathe a grin of agreement. "You see! _She_ knows what value there is to a little adventure."

Albrecht grumbled wordlessly between bites, eyeing his wife with displeasure as she prattled on, "It was like the setting of a novel, really. It was - so colorful, so exotic, and romantic..." She stared dreamily into empty space. "Why if I recall, you could walk outside, in the sand, and feel something under your foot...But instead of it just being a pebble or anything ordinary - it would be a gemstone!" She said acting out her words through theatrical gestures.

"Oh rubbish." Albrecht countered curtly, his voice echoing in his wine glass.

"I found more rubies under my feet there than you can even count, you riotous old pinhead!" She burst, albeit warmheartedly. "I had the most marvelous seashell collection, too," she added, turning to look back at Agathe, "I'll give it to you, dear."

"No no, that's quite alright, I couldn't take that from you!" Agathe returned congenially.

"Oh, nonsense, I insist. What use has a relic like me got for such a thing? Consider it a gift; after all you are my - er, well, a close friend of the family now." Monica said with a slight waver to her voice which she redeemed upon finishing her sentence.

Georg's eyes widened and he wondered if Agathe had caught the slip. Either he was crazy or his aunt had nearly called Agathe her daughter-in-law.

Georg stared at the young lady beside him - if she had noticed, she was a very talented facial actress. He deduced that she hadn't. After all, Agathe would most likely not think that his aunt would claim to be her mother-in-law if they had been married. Georg knew Monica, though, she had practically raised him as her own son before the Naval Academy finished the job for her. She would consider herself Agathe's mother-in-law, as well as Agathe to be her daughter-in-law, so long as she was considering Georg her son. And seeing as how he was parentless anyway...

Agathe's parents engaged his aunt and uncle in a decent conversation for a time, in which they could, astoundingly, agree on a few things.

Georg tuned out their voices, concentrating covertly on Agathe as she politely placed dainty forkfuls of food into her mouth. A clandestine smirk found its way onto his face as his observations triggered an unnecessary amount of attention to her lips.  
It was the awkward raise in volume of the chatter around him that made him realize what was going on.

He glanced from the senseless, slap-happy laughter of the adults to Heinrich's stealthily amused face as he watched their display.  
Georg leaned across the table and hissed distastefully at him, "Nice work, sir Spike-a-lot."

He knew Heinrich was going to ruin everything.  
Georg poured two new glasses of water for himself and Agathe, just in case.

With one last spiteful glance at his cousin, he reluctantly tucked into his supper, making a mental note to remember that 'mouth wash' was code for liqueur.

"All that talk of Gateshead at the dinner table ironically made me want to go back there again" Georg confessed to Agathe as they climbed the stairs to the upstairs hall.

"I was rather fond of the island myself." She said interestingly, "I can't pinpoint why."

"It calls to you, I suppose. My aunt has obviously found her calling." He mentioned darkly.

"Hm," Agathe tilted her head back as she relived Monica's amusing tales in her head, "What was it she said about finding rubies in the sand? Is that true?" She asked with genuine curiosity.

"I wouldn't know, I for one am not foolish enough to walk around in that sand barefoot," he kidded.

She giggled at his incredulous tone.  
He continued, seriously, "She obsesses over those damned rubies all the time...you know they're really only the size of..." He looked down at her hand and gently lifted it up between them, singling out her baby finger. "Here- the size of your smallest fingernail, that's the size of those blasted rubies she goes on about."

Her smile dropped open in a gape.

"And don't let her give you that seashell collection she's trying to push on you- one of those shells is from a hermit crab that we're not sure really ever died yet." He said warningly.

She chuckled disbelievingly, "You suspect some hermit crab is going to pop out of one the shells and frighten me?"

"No," he said simply, "what I mean is that it may come back looking for it's long lost shell one night and find that some woman is hiding it in her collection."

She laughed richly, imagining what he had suggested. "So what would it do, bite my head off for it?" She prolonged playfully just to hear what witty comment he would spout off next.

"It's quite possible - I imagine it may very well be a carnivorous hermit crab. After all, it is from Gateshead."

Invigorated further by her breathless laughter, he added forensically, "And it would no doubt speak Portuguese, or…Tai, or some oddball dialect that you wouldn't understand for the life of you." He jabbed at Gateshead's well-known melting pot of languages.

She almost had tears in her eyes from laughing so hard. Georg couldn't explain why it was so pleasing to make her laugh.  
A look of admiring realization colored her eyes as she calmed, still grinning helplessly, "You're very funny, Georg."  
He shrugged as they reached the top of the stairs.

"I don't think you realize your own wit," She said as she walked slowly into the dim hallway. "And your aunt and uncle are also…how to put it...unceasingly entertaining," she concluded decisively.

"As you can see, they're in every way pointless, but in no way penniless." He said agreeably.

She laughed brightly but said with fine sincerity, "They're wonderful people, Georg. Truly. You're very fortunate to have them."

She was right. If he was being honest with himself, he had not been very thankful of anything he had before Agathe came along. Life was all one big game where he had nothing to lose and he could fight on the seas as if his country were his devoted maiden.  
As much as he loved his country, he felt he did not need Austria, as long as he had Agathe. It was this sentiment that made his pending return to the Navy so difficult to acknowledge.

She patted her skirt shyly, pointing at the opposite side of the hall, "I believe they put your things in there - just two doors down."  
She led him toward the door she had signified.

"As long as I don't have Heinrich as a roommate, I think I'll be fine just about anywhere." He asserted as he opened the door, not bothering to look inside.

"He's in one of the downstairs rooms." She assured softly.

"I couldn't have designed the layout better myself." He said in a tone of approval.

She smiled wantonly at him as her cool fingers made contact with the warm skin on his jaw. "Hmm, sweet dreams...Commander." she whispered. Her fingers lowered from his chin; her innocent touch left his skin tingling. She gently pushed the center of his chest until he stepped back across the threshold and into the dark room.

She then backed away, towards the door on the opposite side of the hall, directly across from his with a smile that he could have sworn was copiously seductive - unless it was just the trick of the candlelight playing with his tired eyes...  
She slowly opened her own door and closed it tauntingly behind her, obstructing his view of her tempting smile.


	10. Teatime

**Chapter 10:**

** Teatime **

* * *

Georg had found it ironically much easier to sleep, even with the knowledge that Agathe was only across the hall. Somehow just knowing that her presence was near to him was immensely comforting, even if he was barred from touching her physically.

It was a strange connection they possessed - they both knew that they each wanted the other very badly, but the game they played demanded that they both deny it. And so it went around in endless circles.  
Georg had donned his armor and entered the battle zone, willing to play fairly, but that seemed impossible with Agathe as an opponent.

During a particularly hectic Wednesday morning, Agathe's parents had organized the inhabitants of the house to hunt down Agathe in hopes of forcing her to sing, Monica and Albrecht had taken to quarreling over the actual contents of petit fours, and Heinrich had somehow locked the cat in the bathroom. Staying cooped up inside with the endless insanity had become unbearable.  
A fleeting summer storm had melted away just an hour after the break of dawn, and the weather following it had been ironically nothing short of glorious. Georg and Agathe escaped out the back door, and tore across the lawn to the fenced field of the home behind, where they watched the neighbor'sf horses gallop through the grass.

"I've always wanted to ride." Agathe confessed dreamily as her bright eyes followed a flawless white stallion.

"You've never ridden a horse?" Georg asked, not bothering to hide his surprise. There seemed to be many things that a young lady never had the chance to do.

"No," she sighed forlornly. She sauntered ahead of him, pulling her weight along by tugging the fence after each measured pace.

Georg took a moment to watch her from behind. She was looking more like the image of an Austrian country girl he had been used to before he moved in with his wealthy aunt and uncle - Dressed in a clean white blouse, an olive colored bodice and a flowing chartreuse skirt with a simple floral pattern, her hair woven into a casual braided knot that rested low by her neck. When she raised her foot to step over a stone, he could see the lace of her petticoat peeking out from under the hem of her dress.

"I'll show you how to ride someday." He said conversationally, noting with some interest that they had begun to remove the 'ifs' and 'maybes' from their sentences when they spoke of late. It seemed they had grown close enough now that days ahead would undoubtedly promise them time together - perhaps even a future together.

She turned abruptly to look hopefully at him. "You would?"

He smiled with the smallest hint of pride, "Of course."

She wrung her hands. "I don't own a horse. Our neighbor has at least eight or so, but he'd never let me ride them."

"What if your father bought one from him?"

"He refuses to give them away. You'd think they were his own children, really. He's far too attached to them."

Georg thought, then offered in a positive tone, "I'll give you one of mine."

She looked at him as if he had just sprouted antlers. "_One_ of yours?"

"Oh, would you prefer a dozen?" He kidded, nudging her arm.

"How many do you have?" She pried curiously.

"We have fourteen back home," He answered modestly, "quite an impressive lot, actually - fast, fully trained, all different breeds."

"Oh my." She said, quietly impressed.

"Well, you would take your pick, of course." He implied, with exaggerated politeness.

She giggled and resumed walking, "Do you ride?"

"Oh yes, naturally. But I regret I haven't had the time for quite a few years now, being away so often." For some reason, he was finding himself increasingly uncomfortable with directly mentioning the Navy.

"Did you have a favorite?" She asked.

He succumbed to a reminiscent pause, thinking back to the times he would enter the stables at his uncle's estate - the horses lined up in the stalls, all different colors, staring back at him, as if knowing he was going to free one of them from their chamber...One in particular seemed to beg the most.  
"Yes, I did have a favorite." He recalled thoughtfully, "I named her Rosaline - she was a beautiful, red mare... And I never let anyone else touch her - oh, no; she was mine."

Agathe coiled slightly at the way he said that, _'She was mine'_...so possessively.

He turned to gaze wistfully out at the open field, his eyes as turbulent and unpredictable as the sea in the ever changing light. She watched in fascination, the way his eyes squinted in the sun and relaxed in the shade of the clouds. Her own gaze followed the curve of his ear, tracing a curious path along his hairline, across the definition of his jaw, to the perfectly bold column of his neck. He had a curious skin tone, she noticed. It wasn't completely tan, but it was undoubtedly sun-kissed, and he never seemed to look pale in any lighting. He looked so ideal, healthy, youthful, perfect...

"Hm," she murmured from behind a coy smile.

"Aggie! Aggie!" The distant calls of Agathe's mother echoed across the lawn, "Agathe, darling, where have you gone to?"

Agathe leaned heavily on the fence and groaned. "She wants me to serve the tea for her guests today."

Georg chuckled softly and mirrored her position against the wooden rail. "Not exactly a tragedy...I'm sure I'll find something entertaining enough without you." He grinned teasingly.

She gave him a pained glower, "It's not that...I'm just so -"

"Agathe Whitehead! I know you're out here! I will not say it again!" Her mother shouted, increasingly irritated.

"I'm sorry." Agathe said with a sheepish smile, quickly touching his hand. She reluctantly sprinted off in the direction of the house before her mother was forced to call her again. He found the way she lifted her skirt to run through the grass strangely endearing.

Georg felt slightly sorry for her. It made him feel lucky that he was not born a female. Women's duties were frightfully dull, in his opinion. Although he respected and appreciated a woman who did what was expected of her, he found conventionally useless rituals like teatime to be nothing more than a nuisance, especially when it took Agathe away from him.

He leaned back against the fence, just letting the sun wash over him and inhaling the sweet fragrance of edelweiss.

He straightened up as a tall grey horse approached him mildly. He reached up calmly to stroke the creature's nose as it nuzzled gruffly into his hand, and he smiled at the unexpected gesture. He had forgotten how much he liked horses.

Georg's earlier assumption that he would find ways to entertain himself in Agathe's absence turned out to be ironically challenging.

He ventured around the grounds for a while, once having the disfortune of running into Heinrich near the driveway.

"Georg, smell this new cologne I got - go on, tell me what you think," He ordered eagerly flinging his sleeve into Georg's face as he passed him.

"How cavalier," Georg mused, humoring him without so much as a whiff of the stuff, "Congratulations, you win the award of most aromatic aristocrat."

Apparently being close to the house was out of the question. From then on he reminded himself to stay within a safe distance so as to avoid his cousin and his annoying antics.

Eventually the afternoon sun had grown uncomfortably hot and he decided it best to go indoors.

As soon he opened the front door, Agathe's small orange cat scampered between his legs and fled down the steps into the driveway.

He stifled a yelp of surprise, and stood dumbfounded in the threshold, unsure of whether he should chase after it. A pampered house cat did not belong outside, he assumed.

Without a thought, he vainly made off after it. It sped up until he could barely see it and hopped into the hedge that separated the front lawn from the gardens. He knelt breathlessly in the grass at the spot it disappeared, leaning over to peer into the leaves. He swore under his breath, pawing at the twigs of the hedge in panicked movements. His actions deceased abruptly as he spotted the feline's yellow eyes staring spitefully at him from deep in the plants, concealed by the brush.

He bit his lip, considering his next move. Thinking fast, he searched his person for anything he could use to draw the cat's interest. No food, no yarn, no catnip...what the hell did cats like anyway? His fingers collided with something cold and blunt in his left pants pocket. He had completely forgotten Agathe's necklace, and until now, hadn't even noticed he had left it in this pair of pants. He had not worn them once since the day they arrived, which was nearly five days ago.

Pulling the chain from his pocket, he held it tauntingly up to the cat's hiding place so that it sparkled in the sunlight. "Come on kitty, here kitty." He said in the high pitched sort of voice he heard others use when talking to small animals. He winced at how foolish he must have looked, crouched in the grass, talking to an animal that could not even be seen, waving around a priceless necklace that belonged around the neck of the woman he was practically courting. He hoped to high heavens that no one was watching him.

The cat raised his head slightly in what Georg read as a gesture of slight interest. He scooted slowly closer to the animal, making the pendant on the necklace bounce up and down as he desperately clicked his tongue.

Cautiously, the cat slinked out from under the brush, showing its orange fur. It stared blankly at the necklace, its big emotionless eyes following the bouncing motion of the jewel.

Letting the necklace hang limply from his hand, he waited with bated breath as the cursed little beast made its way closer and closer to where he sat.

In the second he estimated it close enough, he sprung forward and trapped the cat in his arms, ignoring its screech of displeasure as he scooped it up and carried its struggling body back to the house. He waited until the door was securely closed behind him before letting the cat leap from his arms, and dart down the hallway, hissing mercilessly at him.

Now he understood what people meant when someone said they were not a cat person.

Georg trudged up the stairs to his room with the intention of changing. His clothes had gotten stained with grass and dirt from his incident with the cat and he was not about to let someone see him looking anything like he looked then. In the sanctuary of his room, he redressed rapidly into a different outfit, making sure he took the necklace out of his pocket. He laid it on the bed and stared at it for a few moments. Should he give it to her now? He had intended to present her with it at the moment of his arrival, but there had been an unexpected distraction that prevented him from doing so...

What did it matter when he gave it to her? He knew she liked him. But no, he was convinced that the timing had to be right for it to mean anything. Only when it came would he know for sure. Perhaps, then this meant he must keep it on his person at all times if he did not have a solid plan. He shook his head in resignation, cramming it into the pocket of the jacket he was wearing now, and stalked out the door.

Just as he reached the bottom of the stairs, he saw Odelle bidding farewell to her guests in the front door in the foyer.

That must mean Agathe was free. He walked down the hall, looking for her in the parlor, the dining room, the conservatory, the library -

She was there and she was alone. He entered confidently, seating himself behind a desk as she stood still with her back to him.

"What's wrong?" he asked briskly.

She slammed the book she was holding shut and turned so that he could see her profile but she did not look at him as she spoke, "Oh, nothing. Apparently my mother thinks I just disgraced myself in front of her friends."

He was unused to her bitter tone. It was odd to hear her normally soft voice sounding so forceful, so sardonic... Georg found it strangely attractive.

Unsure that it was appropriate to pry further on the subject, he asked tentatively, trying not to strike a nerve, "And just what could possibly lead her to think that?"

He casually placed his feet up on the edge of the desk, and busied himself with spinning the antique globe clockwise then counter-clockwise in a bored fashion.

Agathe opened her mouth to respond, but was blocked by a timely interruption from his aunt as she came marching in, saying flightily to her "Don't let all that nonsense get to you dear, I thought you did a marvelous job - you couldn't make a more perfect hostess at the tea table, truly."

Agathe blushed lightly at her comments and thanked her shyly.

Georg gave a less than charming huff of contempt at his aunt's incessant gushing.

Monica whipped her head around to stare at him. "You be quiet."

He rolled his eyes and she continued blathering on to Agathe about something concerning teapots and proper etiquette of a hostess. In attempt to cheer Agathe up, he brought two magnifying glasses up to his eyes, making them hilariously enlarged, from behind his aunt's back. Agathe granted him the stifled laughter he had anticipated from her and he quickly set them down as his aunt turned back to look at him, pretending to study a book with one of the glasses. He languidly leaned back into the chair and sighed with disinterest.

"Oh Georg, stop brooding, I thought you grew out of that." Monica commented flippantly, mistaking his behavior. She bustled out the door, leaving them alone again.

Georg stared at Agathe, the illusive trace of a proud smirk on his lips. "So...trouble at the tea table, then?"

He lazily walked the points of a drawing compass over an imaginary map on the surface of the desk.

She furrowed her brow at him, "It's so ridiculous, Georg, you have no idea."

"I know ridiculous, darling, try me." He noticed her slight change in composure at his use of the term of endearment, even if it was used in jest.

She smiled slightly, but still sounded distressed, "It's just that I have trouble remembering to - well, to _refill_ the teacups of the guests." She threw her arms up in exasperation at the word '_refill' _as if it were the most troublesome thing on earth.

He scoffed in understanding. He did not know much about tea himself, except that he despised the practice as well.

"I see. And this is what makes your mother believe you have ruined her afternoon?" He asked bitterly.

Agathe whirled around to face him, her hand against her forehead in a damsel-like gesture of abandonment. With the light wisps of hair that naturally framed her temples flying astray and her features contorted into a look of flushed dismay, she looked more like the eighteen-year-old that she was rather than the mature, womanly temptress he had seen on the stairs at the ball.

He grinned at the thought.

"It's not my fault, I can't remember - I mean, honestly - why can't they just refill their own damned cups themselves?" She raised her voice in annoyance; Georg privately found the sight of her angry rather amusing. Suddenly an idea came to him.

"I think I know a way to help with that." He said esoterically. Her eyes were puzzled as she stared back at him.

He sent her a dashing smile, twirling the drawing compass around his fingers.

"What's that, clever lad?"

"Show me your tea set."

"What do you need to see my tea set for?" Agathe asked confusedly as she led him into the unoccupied parlor.

"You'll see." He said cryptically, taking a teacup from the table and examining it thoughtfully.

"Georg..." She watched as he searched through the pockets of his pine green dinner jacket and extracted a Swiss army knife. He snapped open a blade and Agathe's eyes widened in alarm. After a second of reflection, he shook his head and closed it back up. Feeling around beneath the other side of his jacket, he smirked as he produced a small black fountain pen.

"What are you going to do with that?" She questioned warningly as he emptied the ink capsule from the pen and held the cup up to eye level, considering the inside of it.

Ignoring her question, he placed the metal tip of the pen inside and began scratching away, snickering as he carved something into the bottom of the polished china teacup.

"Georg! What on earth do you think you're doing?" Agathe hissed madly, trying vainly to snatch it out of his hand.

He just continued laughing, turning away from her as she swatted his back. "I swear, Georg, if you so much as -"

He turned back to her, and presented her the teacup with a mocking air of politeness.

Too curious to glare at him, she took it from his hand and stared down into the base inside of the cup. The scraggled but legible illustration of a jolly roger symbol stared hollowly back up at her.

"Wha...?" She didn't know whether to shout, to laugh, or to cry. A distinguished naval officer had just carved a depiction of the most notorious and offensive pirate symbol into her priceless china tea set. She gaped at him in disbelief.

"Now you wouldn't dare let your guests see the bottom of that teacup, would you?" He asked rhetorically, looking heavily pleased with his own cleverness.

She broke into a fit of delirious laughter, and before she even cared to stop him, he began scribbling away to ruin her next teacup.


	11. Lights Out

**Chapter 11:**

** Lights Out**

* * *

Humor had become an integral part in Georg and Agathe's relationship. There were only so many ways to entertain themselves when they were surrounded by such idiocy, but together they found it quite manageable. They had been on the end of Heinrich's pranks for a time and had fittingly conjured a few of their own for which he fell easily. When they weren't just taking part in their usual flirtatious banter, they were teaching each other things, even talking seriously about life's trials. Agathe showed tremendous curiosity about war tactics and nautical matters, perhaps more than a woman should. But Georg humored her to no end with as much knowledge on the subjects he possessed. He taught her how to navigate by stars and how to identify constellations, and she graciously showed him how to dress up her cat and to pour tea without burning himself. Being with Agathe made Georg come to terms with a different side of himself - a side that was not stiff, serious, and overly mature, but was relaxed, spontaneous, and even romantic. That was by far the most valuable thing she could have showed him. At the basest level, she had become his best friend, although he would have never called her that - he liked her too much title her so.

They kissed when time and privacy allowed them, which was increasingly more often. Occasionally they elevated the level of intensity, but never ventured beyond that point. They grew to know each other well enough that kissing felt more and more effortless, and thus more pleasurable. If their many methods made up a menu, it was quite a gourmet selection. So far no one had caught them, or even suspected that there was anything remotely intimate going on between them, at least to Georg's knowledge. He doubted there was any dose of underestimation on his part when it came to Agathe's younger siblings, or even to Heinrich. He was confident. No one knew.

During the following weekend, they took the fifteen minute drive into Vienna to explore the stores and visit the beautiful historic landmarks. Georg had always found Vienna to be of little interest and he admittedly never really saw why other people made such a huge fuss over the city. But with Agathe it was the closest thing to heaven.

He had never spent so much time with another woman his age before. Any other females he had had the misfortune of encountering were either far too vivacious or simply a bore. Agathe was so much different than the other women who had taken an interest in him over the years. She knew how to talk to him, how to treat him, how to handle him. She didn't coddle him, or press matters when he proved enigmatic. She didn't force him into things even if they were what she wanted- she had been frighteningly patient with him, going by his lead, not by her own, although she was not hesitant to give her opinion if she believed him in the wrong. Somehow she knew him so well, the pieces of his attitude that no one else could seem to figure out. She had gone right where all the others had gone wrong.

Georg began wondering seriously for the first time if he could be falling in love with her.

He had no experience of love before. It was something he had never even considered happening to him someday. He dismissed it as something to ponder much later in life, if at all. After all, he had thrown all his interest and energy into the Navy from his early teen years - _that _was his life, _that _was what mattered to him most. Success on the ships had been his greatest source of gratification - perhaps his only source. He was convinced he neither needed nor wanted anything else.

He had been a late bloomer in discovering even the parcel idea of infatuation. It was not until he was nearly seventeen when he started to truly think of women in that way, and even then he had his typical knee-jerk response and instantly tossed it over his shoulder without another thought.

He was fairly certain that there would be no bolt of lightning, no booming voice from God telling him that they were destined for one another. No, it would require much thought, much contemplation on his part. Hell, something as momentous as deciding whether he was in love or not might very well take days of reflection. Georg was not foolish enough to jump into something like that - he was taught from a young age to think hard before acting, and it was a practice he had mastered better than anyone he knew. He was never one for impulsive reactions, and although he had his moments of caving in as all humans did, he learned from each incident, and rarely fell into the same traps twice.

He spent enough time thinking in the Navy, and he did not want to waste time farcializing the matter of their relationship just yet. He would be better off if he just let loose for once and allowed the pieces to fall where they were meant without interference.

"I'm going to look in here for a while." Agathe said abruptly. He snapped to consciousness, realizing he had been waist-deep in thoughts. He had not noticed that they now stood in front of the very jewelry store where he had bought her necklace. Thank goodness that particular jeweler promised no duplicates as a point of business. The last thing he wanted was for her to somehow see the gift before she received it.

He supposed she was telling him this with the assumption that he would not take particular interest in something like a jewelry shop.

Nodding distractedly, he murmured a word of consent and told her that he would be in the bookshop next door.

Agathe stared at him in slight concern for a moment before letting go of his arm. She clutched her purse and made her way into the jewelers. She always loved to look at the different colored gems since she was a young girl, and she never ceased to be fascinated at how they sparkled so radiantly under the stark white lights of their display cases. While studying a particularly lavish pair of emerald earrings, she looked up at the sound of a female humming airily beside her at the counter.

A bright blond head of hair was the first thing that filled her vision as she quickly put a name to the figure.

"Elsa?" She asked, quietly directing the woman.

The head turned rapidly, revealing a beautiful pair of heavily lashed blue eyes and painted red lips. "Oh Agathe, darling! I hardly expected to see you today, I heard you were having company over for a few weeks." She exclaimed in her decoratively ladylike drawl.

"Yes, well, company likes to get out too, you know." Agathe said demurely, shifting her purse from one arm to the other.

Elsa's face seemed naturally unaffected. "I see...a few gentlemen from the Navy, if I'm not mistaken?"

Agathe willed herself against the unusual blush that threatened to creep to her face. "Yes, that's correct."

"Oh, how lovely." She commented breezily as she turned her attention back to the case of most ostentatious diamonds in the store.

It was Agathe's turn to mention a relevant rumor of her own. "I heard of your engagement a few weeks ago, I offer my congratulations." She said politely.

Elsa's already buoyant mood lightened even more as the conversation turned toward her. "Oh, thank you darling! Expired news, really!"

Agathe forced a sincere looking smile. She did not understand Elsa's insistence on calling her darling when she was only a year or so older than her. She considered her a friend, but Elsa had been the most popular young lady at her finishing school and was rather flighty for her taste.

"When is the wedding?" Agathe asked with feigned interest just to humor her.

"Next month - we're planning for the nineteenth." She said happily, as the saleswoman handed her the most impractical pearl choker Agathe ever saw. "You'll be one of my bridesmaids of course, I have not forgotten you, Aggie." She said with a bright smile, showing her teeth.

Agathe suppressed a snort of derision and covered it with an appreciative smile. She had her doubts that Elsa had even remembered until seeing her just a minute ago.

It was not the sort of wedding that would bring much excitement, after all. Elsa had gotten engaged to a wealthy baron who was no less than fifty years old. She had never been particularly rich herself, although she was spoiled to the greatest extent possible on the budget her family could bend. Now she would have no limits to what she could buy - she would make herself very happy. However, Elsa may have defined herself by money but she did not let it define others in her eyes. One of her admirable qualities was that she did not judge others based on their own social status, and she was for the most part kind to anyone - although that may have just been out of her own obliviousness.

"I assume you'll be tying the knot yourself, soon." Elsa added, holding an ostentatious wreath of peridots up to her neck and studying her reflection in the mirror.

"What makes you say that?" Agathe asked, a bit too innocently that it caused a slight squeak to her voice.

Switching to a much more flattering necklace of rubies, she said saucily, "I don't pretend to know things, Agathe, but you've shown an undeniable bit of a glow these past few months. I assume you've met someone..."

Agathe swallowed and self-consciously fixed her hair in the mirror beside Elsa. "Well yes, as a matter of fact I have." She said quietly, not wanting to provoke a new rumor. "But that's hardly reason to think I'd go off and marry him any time soon." Although the thought had been endlessly entertaining to fantasize about, Agathe added mentally.

Elsa gave a punctilious little laugh, her eyes sparkling knowingly. "Oh, Agathe, I can tell when a girl has fallen for someone." She said with an abundant air of superiority, "There's no fooling me on the matter."

Agathe bristled inwardly with the irony of her words - So Elsa could tell when any other woman was in love, when Elsa herself had never been in love to begin with.

"No, I suppose there is no fooling you." Agathe murmured skeptically as she watched Elsa pay for the items she had taken out.

It was obviously her groom's gross inheritance that had allowed her the means by which to shop so extravagantly - of course it wasn't Agathe's place to comment on her behavior, but she couldn't help feeling it a bit tacky that Elsa was out spending her fiancé's money on purposeless amounts of jewelry during the first month of their engagement.

"Well Agathe, it was a pleasure running into you," She said gaily as she struggled with arranging the modest amount of bags and boxes in her arms. "Always a delight, confirming grapes from the gossip vine!"

Agathe simpered richly as Elsa flurried in a business like stroll toward the door, her heels clicking pointedly on the tiles.

"I'll telephone you sometime this week with the wedding details!" She called back enthusiastically. Just as she reached for the handle, it flew open from the outside and she nearly slammed face-first into Georg.

He looked down at the bustling blonde in mild surprise with raised eyebrows and gallantly held the door open for her.

"Excuse me.." she murmured sweetly in a sing-song voice as she brushed past him out into the busy street. He watched her depart with a slight look of amusement on his face, then stared expectantly at Agathe, "Ready to go, then?"

She nodded with some amount of relief and followed him out the door.

They spent a good portion of the afternoon in the art museums with the rest of the family. It was one of the few times during the trip where they had also gotten along willingly with Heinrich. They were able to get a hearty laugh out of many of the paintings, especially those pieces from the French Rococo era.

A kind elderly couple had become friendly with them while in their tour group. It seemed many people had taken a liking to their party as long as Agathe was present. Especially older women had a magnetism toward her natural charm and grace. At the end of their tour, as they were about to leave, the couple approached Agathe in the lobby and offered her a pair of tickets to the opening performance at the Vienna State Opera that night, saying that such a bright young lady deserved to enjoy the most beautiful part of Vienna.

She accepted them with a thrilled air after much pressing from the couple and had rushed to her mother asking her if she could go with Georg that evening.

Odelle consented after a few minutes of consideration, mostly based on the fact that they were not dressed in opera attire. They drove home after an early dinner and allowed them to change into more appropriate formal clothing. It had all happened so fast, Georg could hardly believe he was going to one of the finest operas in Europe with Agathe Whitehead on his first day back in Vienna as she descended the stairs in a sparkling gown of deep plum, the signature mocking smile he found so endearing set perfectly upon her lips.

"Have you ever been to the opera before?" She asked him excitably as they got into the car.

"Yes, just a few times, but I was so young I couldn't remember if I tried." He laughed.

"Same with me!" She said surprisedly. "I can't believe we got so lucky - do you know how much these tickets would have cost if we had wanted to buy them for the opening night?"

"I can guess." He said acutely. Truth be told, he couldn't have cared less about the opera, no matter how grand it were to be. Agathe was excited and they had the evening to be alone, and that was all that made him happy.

It felt so strange in a wonderful way to walk into the hall of the opera house with Agathe on his arm. It was as if they were a legitimate couple - and to everyone around them they were.

They could have been married for all those strangers knew. Georg relished in the idea, finding it to be entertaining to act as if that were true. He could tell Agathe was thinking the same things.

He hadn't even paid enough attention to see what the opera was called before their tickets were taken. It was unlike him to be so unobservant, but he had harnessed his observations in Agathe's every movement instead. It was embarrassingly hard to look away from her. He wondered vaguely if she noticed his constant staring. It wouldn't have mattered if she had. He was not intent on keeping his affection from her - sometimes he would have done anything to show her how appealing he found her. He couldn't imagine she felt the same way about him, although she had hinted that she did.

The performance was indeed impressive; even for someone who did not have any great interest in opera itself, he found it at the very least stimulating on many levels. It brought back fleeting images from his childhood. The rare occasions when his grandmother would take him to the opera when he was still in primary school. He had just been learning French and Italian at the time and so was too confused to follow the plotlines, which were typically complicated enough as it were. However, now it was tremendously easy for both he and Agathe to follow the French lyrics. Occasionally he would have to explain something she missed to her, but he didn't mind - he was impressed that she was able to keep up nearly as well as he.

Afterward in the car ride home, they had somehow both become inexplicably hyper and laughed obsessively as they serenaded each other, giving exaggerated impressions of the lead couple's vocal performance in the back seat.

They switched between using nonsense French sounding words, and using actual French phrases that were entirely too inappropriate to be sung in an actual opera. They sung obnoxiously, earning more than a few displeased glances from the driver in the viewing mirror.

Georg had been so drunk with amusement that he hadn't thought to really listen to Agathe's voice as she sang, and neither to his own voice for that matter. They were only goofing around anyway, he thought. Although he had been curious to hear her sing seriously. If her voice was that beautiful when she spoke, it must be glorious to hear her sing.

It was storming heavily by the time they came home and they ran quickly into the house, failing to dodge the rain and wind, still cackling uncontrollably.

Agathe pressed her head against the window. "This storm looks bad." She commented, recovering from laughter as she shook her dress about, trying to dry it.

"You know these summer storms, they never last that long." He said dismissively as he removed his jacket and set it on the coat-rack.

"Would you like some coffee?" She asked casually, gesturing toward the parlor.

"Would we be using your fine tea set, madam?" He asked teasingly.

She giggled "Without a doubt, sir."

They sat across from each other at the table, commenting on the repertoire of music from the opera for a while.

"I suppose everyone went to bed already." She said openly, letting her voice trail slightly as she looked up at him.

"Hm." He mumbled distractedly.

She waited until he returned her gaze and she smiled expectantly at him, almost in a daring way.

He raised his eyebrows at her, "Yes?" he asked innocently.

She said nothing but continued burning through his irresponsive stare.

A flash of lightning filled the room and she held her breath, bracing herself with her hands clutching the arms of her chair, expecting the thunder following it to be deafening.

Unable to feign disinterest any longer, he gave her a sinful smirk just before the crippling decibel thrashed through the house.

Agathe winced as the sound caused her ears to ring and in a second, the electricity failed. An eerie tapering groan of draining power sounded from somewhere below them and she laughed nervously, wishing her eyes would adjust to the dark faster.

"Ah, brilliant." She heard Georg mumble derisively.

"I told you it would be bad," she spoke into the dark room.

She listened to his defiant scoff and was slightly surprised to hear it much closer to hear than she had anticipated. "I should have listened to you." he admitted playfully, his voice right beside her now, "You're always right..." he positively purred.

She suppressed a gasp as her heart skipped a beat. Having no vision certainly caused one to hear things with enhanced concentration.

She let out an unsure giggle and reached her hand out in front of her tentatively. "Where are you?" she asked in hushed concern.

"Right here." His soothing whisper heated her cheeks as she felt a warm hand close around her outstretched one.

"Oh heavens, I can't see a thing." she confessed, holding tightly to his hand as she stood up. She trembled mildly as his gentle laughter met her alert ears just barely above the sound of the persistent rain.

"How can you see?" She demanded anxiously, truly curious.

"I'm nocturnal." he said as though he were revealing a terrible secret. She didn't need eyes to visualize the amused smile that she knew graced his face in that moment. She again gave a shaky laugh at his response and leaned instinctively in toward the unmistakable heat of his body. His hand firmly guided her forward until she fell against him, struggling for balance as his other hand relieved the sudden need for support at her waist. She heard his quick intake of breath, comfortingly close to her cheek and she relaxed as he held her upright.

"Are you all right?" He asked softly, her hidden blush deepening at the timbre of his precious voice. She forgot for a moment that he could not see her nod and she whispered weakly, "Yes."

A blinding flash of white lightning lit her view of him for a fleeting second, his eyes shockingly clear, looking straight at her. He looked so calm...

She couldn't help that she got so jumpy in the dark, but he looked so leveled in that moment that it gave her a sense of ease.

The sudden burst of treacherous thunder, however, caused her to practically leap off the ground with a start. "Goodness gracious!" she gasped helplessly as his calm hands steadied her. "Agathe, I've never seen you quite so jittery before." He drawled amusedly. "If I didn't know any better I'd say you were afraid of thunderstorms."

Her grudging glare at his invisible face went unnoticed by him in the dark, though, as she cried defensively, "I'm not afraid of the storm, I just dislike loud noises that come out of nowhere! Especially when I'm in a pitch dark room! -"

He hushed her in his most quelling tone, murmuring deeply, "Shh, shh, settle down."

She considered acting up again just to feel his hands clench around her waist that way a second time.

But the double flicker of lightning stopped her at sudden. She emitted the faintest whimper as she felt Georg's hands slip off her hips and replace themselves slowly and securely over her ears. She let her eyes close calmly and smiled grudgingly as the crackling thunder was efficiently muffled by the barrier his hands provided. He waited for the loud rumble to subside, then removed his hands so she could hear again.

The wind roared threateningly against the walls and she could just barely make out what sounded like children's distant laughter coming from upstairs. "Do you hear that?" She asked, a bit more urgently than she meant to, tugging what she guessed was the sleeve of his shirt. She ruffled the soft fabric under her hand, the intimacy of the action magnified in the darkness as she felt the warmth of his arm beneath the material.

"What, the wind?" he inquired briskly.

"No, no. I thought I heard the children upstairs."

"Are they all right?"

"I think they're laughing." She answered rather surely after listening harder.

Georg sighed, "We should get upstairs anyway."

She clung to his back as he made his way to the doors. He felt his way through the carpeted room; she could hear the soft scrape of his palm against the paneled wall and suddenly, the positive clink of the door handle. He pushed it open and she struggled to move forward in from the dark; she reached for his body again and bit her lip as she felt herself clutching the leather strip of his belt. His hand patiently found hers and gently guided it away from his waist.

She followed the sure sound of his footsteps and could just barely make out his silhouette as he miraculously uncovered the door to the entrance hall where they could see fairly clearly. The room glowed with lightning and a crash of thunder followed, the crystal chandelier clinking with the vibration. This time she did not have the luxury of Georg's hands over her ears to protect them from the forceful sound.

She clutched his arm as he led her up the stairs. The hallway on the second floor was much darker than downstairs and she found that could not see anything yet again. But he somehow found his way despite the blackness. "You know my own house better than I do in the dark!" She remarked, impressed.

"The hold of a ship is not exactly the brightest place to find your way through, either." He chuckled. "I have experience with navigating in the dark."

She shivered feeling the heavy heat of his presence behind her as she stopped by the door to her room. "Will you find your way into your room without my help?" She asked suggestively, slightly able to make out the dim features of his face in the concealing shadows.

He laughed lowly, "My room is just across the hall."

She leaned into her door, refusing to open it just yet, and whispered slowly, "But you might need help finding your bed.."

She heard his breath quicken as he bent toward her ear. "I think I'll manage."

He kissed her soundly, pressing her against the door. His heart raced violently and he panicked for a moment, worried that he might find it impossible to stop himself at this point. It would be so easy, so frightfully easy just to lock the door to her room and be as quiet as possible...so easy.

It was even made worse as she desperately tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled him closer against her body. He realized she was not going to stop him if he decided to take her right then.

Her hands traveled pointedly down his stomach and rested above his belt.

She was definitely not going to stop him.

If he wanted to save her, he would have to do it himself.

He attempted to break away from her, but she seized him back by tugging his belt and he felt his body threaten to lose control.

Didn't she realize how difficult she was making it for him?

Did she actually want him to abduct her now? Or did she not realize how infinitely harder it was for him, the man, to put an end to the course of events rather than her, the woman?

He_ had_ control, he _knew_ control, he could control nearly an entire ship full of men - but he could not control himself.

Her helpless whimper as she tossed her head back, her nails digging into his shoulders...that almost undid him. Just nearly.

No. He could not, he would not spoil what they had now. He cared too deeply for her to destroy her like that for his own selfish gratification.

He gently parted from her, thankful it was dark enough that she could not see her potential effects on his body.

He willed the rasp in his voice to go away as he told her quietly, "We have to stop -_ I_ have to stop... now.."

It was hard to read what her reaction was in the darkness, but he could not imagine her refusing after all the strength it took him to say it.

He heard the sound of her door opening and he expelled a sigh of half relief, half dismay.

"Thank you," her soft whisper met his ears just before her door clicked closed.

He did a double take as her words registered. Had he heard her right? Had she really _thanked _him for leaving her?

At first reaction, it was painfully humbling to his ego that she did not protest more. Why had she said that? 'Thank you' for what? Had he passed some sort of test?

But the more he thought of why she had said that, the more sense it made. She had thanked him for the very reason he had initially felt guilty. He had spared her something precious that could not be replaced. He did not want to ruin her before they knew that they were really in love. Agathe did not deserve to be lowered to that level; she deserved to be loved in a reverent way - a way that was miles apart from just one rushed night because the lights happened to be off.

He knew that. Even if it meant he did not get to have her in the end... he would have sacrificed_ that_, for her to be loved the way she was meant to be loved.


	12. Harmonies

**Chapter 12:**

** Harmonies**

* * *

Georg felt numb as he rolled over in his bed. He woke grudgingly, squinting sleepily at the clock. He had been too distracted to set the alarm the night before - and it was nearly eleven o'clock.

He never_ ever_ slept in. He rarely let himself so much as rest in bed after the break of dawn. The feeling was so foreign that he rose in a panic, rubbing the sleep from his eyes until they watered.

Agathe's soft little whisper came back to him as his mind churned with the residue of his dreams _- "Thank you." _

So _that_ was what happened last night.

That which had almost ended in an unfortunate...accident.

His heart relaxed at the soothing sound of birds singing outside the window. In a few minutes of listening, he realized they weren't the only ones singing. Distant and faint, he could make out the song of another - an angelic voice - of a woman.

He lowered his feet from the bed and weakly made his way to the door, opening it to step into the hall, her voice growing clearer and stronger as he descended the stairs until he could hear the piano accompaniment. He stopped in the downstairs hallway, just drinking in the sound, though he could not place from where it was coming.

It was vibrant and exhilarating, yet haunting and mystical. He did not know the name of the song, could not even make out the lyrics, but it glowed with passion and soared with unfettered spirit.

He had never imagined a woman's voice could sound like that. It was not the casual warble of his aunt as she searched through her closet for something to wear, it was not the belting soprano of an Italian opera star. It was sweeter than a canary and softer than the coo of a dove.

Agathe's voice was the purest, holiest, heavenly sound that ever graced his ears.

It was the sort of sound he wanted to hear just before he died.

Heart racing erratically, he dashed back up the stairs to clean up and change before she finished. He needed to see her...

Agathe distractedly thumbed through the sheet music, seated at the ivory baby grand in the conservatory. She came upon the page she was searching for and poised her hands above the keys just as the sound of the door opening startled her.

In the threshold stood the man with smoldering blue eyes that set her heart aflame and a smile that made her question the capability of her lungs. She blushed as he walked towards her, looking fascinated by the mere sight of her.

"I heard you singing earlier." He confided softly.

Her heart dropped. She had not meant for him to hear her practicing.

"Oh..." she couldn't help the small smile that crept onto her lips. She never recalled seeing him look quite so enraptured with her and it made her slightly uncomfortable. She had not imagined him the type of man who could be moved by her singing.

"If I may say so, you shame the leading lady from the opera last night." He said with utter sincerity as he moved to stand beside her with his elbow resting on the top of the piano.

The pink hue in her cheeks brightened as she looked down, shaking her head humbly.

"Oh be quiet." She whispered, but he could see her smiling.

"That's my aunt's line." He corrected mutinously.

She laughed sheepishly, still looking at her lap.

"Do you play as well?" He asked her, patting the piano top with his hand.

"Yes...not while I'm singing, though - I need someone to play for me while I sing." She replied timidly.

His eyes sparkled, answering her unasked question.

She quickly searched for something to change the conversation. "Your uncle says you play very well - I believe he may have even used the word 'prodigy' in describing your talent." She said, regaining her coyly mocking composure.

He waved her off dismissively. "Absurd. I haven't played in years." He admitted, eyeing the piano with some amount of wistfulness that betrayed his tone.

She smiled slyly at him and scooted suggestively to the side of the bench to allow him room to sit beside her.

He closed his eyes and let his head fall back in reluctant submission. He would not refuse the chance to be closer to her.

Settling beside her, he watched as she flicked the pages of a thick brown music book and stopped on a page titled _'Rolling Hills Rag'._

"You want me to play ragtime?" He spluttered nervously, half expecting her to have picked a slow lyrical hymn that she would sing to.

"Why, what's the matter? You said you played." She said knowingly, enjoying tormenting him, if just a little.

His eyes widened as he scanned the crammed stanzas of the page; there were so many notes he guessed he would have a seizure if he attempted to play them.

"You'll play it..." She said coaxingly. She fluttered her eyelashes at him. "For me?"

He laughed grudgingly and shifted toward her, raising his hands above the keyboard.

"You had to pick the most complicated song in the book, did you?" He asked in mock annoyance. A grin formed on her face - she was shocked he was indulging her.

"I just opened it to a random page - honest!" She said, laughing defensively.

He sighed heavily and glanced over the music, finding the proper key. He ran through a quick scale in the key of E flat, then started flawlessly into the song, his fingers racing across the keys in at dizzying speeds, the rolling rhythm of the familiar genre making her unnaturally giddy. There was no one she knew who could play like that; she was no where near as talented with the instrument. The only place she could hear such music was on the radio or at a concert - and even then she could not see the near impossible arpeggios that the music demanded being carried out so effortlessly by his dexterous fingers right in front of her. She drank in the brisk, bittersweet, dauntingly complicated melody and a vaguely familiar emotion stung her gut - she was actually jealous.

Jealous of how well he played songs that would take years of building up skills sharp enough to execute them as wonderfully as he did. The fact that his talent was theoretically at her dispense to some degree eased her somewhat. But coaxing him to display it willingly any time she wished was not so easily done. He praddled off the ridiculous ending and finished the song abruptly to her immediate eruption of laughter.

He laughed along with her in spite of his own feat as she gushed, "Oh, Georg, that's a riot! I had no idea you could play like that!"

"Neither did I." He admitted, drying the corners of his eyes with the back of his fingers in disbelief.

"You say you haven't played in _years_?" she demanded incredulously, tugging his sleeve.

"No, I haven't had access to a piano in so long - and the last time I played something with this many notes I was still taking lessons."

"I'm rather envious," She said simply, stroking the keys absently.

"Someday, God knows when, but someday I'll have you playing better than me." He promised confidently.

She rolled her eyes. "The most complicated thing I can play is the Blue Danube waltz."

"Hah. I remember learning that...I believe I was..four?" he said teasingly, squinting thoughtfully at the ceiling.

She playfully slapped his arm. "I was not a child _prodigy_."

"Well, you'll have to teach me to sing, then." He offered, closing the piano book before she asked him to play more.

She smiled shyly. "I believe you're already adequate in that department."

He looked perplexedly at her. His eyes fell helplessly to the open plane of bare cream-white flesh from her shoulders to the intolerably low neckline of her dress. For a small moment he thought of the opal necklace tucked safely away in his room, under the clothes in his dresser drawer.

"You were kind enough to indulge me with your operatic display in the car last night, and might I add, it was surprisingly more than acceptable." She said proudly, tipping her head up.

"Are you joking? I must have been atrocious!" He burst in offense.

"I'm ever so sincere, sir." she said positively.

He eyed her with heavy skepticism. That was three times he had sung - and three times someone had told him he was more than acceptable. Could it be they were all just liars?

Even if he didn't trust the first two, he had no choice but to trust Agathe's judgment. She was, after all, the most wonderful singer he had heard himself.

"Well, I was only joking around." He said, willing himself not to blush.

She laughed. "Yes - someday you will have to sing a ballad for me." She suggested hopefully.

He swallowed. Not too soon, he hoped. "Hmmm. Well for the time being, _you, _my dear, are the one who excels at the art of singing." He said, liberally adding the term of endearment into the sentence for the first time, not in jest.

Her smile was one of elated astonishment. "And you_, darling,_ still excel at the art of playing piano."

He smirked pleasurably. "So I'd say we're even, then."

"Oh no," She sighed sweetly, bringing her finger up to trace the firm line of his jaw. "_You_, Commander, still excel at the art of kissing."

He whispered back, cocking his head as she took his face between her hands, "I think we can both excel at that." He proposed surely, indulging her with something he did not mind doing one bit.

They spent the entirety of the afternoon in the conservatory, attempting to play the various musical instruments, some of which proved easier than others. They were always able to laugh at themselves, Georg noticed. It was part of what held them together.

Agathe was very talented at playing the harp, but it seemed to be the one instrument that Georg found too complicated to get used to.

"Just keep your hands moving," she tried to demonstrate the action on the strings for him, but he could not mimic it for the life of him.

"Just face it, Agathe, I can't be perfect at _everything_." He joked with a sigh. "Although I must say, I've come pretty close."

She scoffed in mock offense, prepared to throw a hit to his solar plexus. He blocked her motion deftly with the side of his arm just before her fist collided with his pelvis, and raised his eyebrows in what Agathe thought to be an exquisitely adorable expression.

"You're lucky that I have quite fluid reflexes, fraulein, or else that may have resulted in an ugly brawl." He said darkly as he lowered her hand.

She moved her hands to her hips and said tartly, "I see. And does that mean you would be prepared to engage in physical combat with a _woman_?"

He cocked his head in consideration, "Not necessarily - However, when someone punches me, it's only out of instinct that I punch them back. I can't help it if said assailant happens to be a woman." He couldn't help smirking at her expression.

She hurried past him toward the piano, saying huffily, "In any case, there will be no brawls in this house, unless you wish to be kicked out immediately."

"Well, I gave you fair warning - so don't try to start anything up." He said, laughing.

She glared mockingly at him, but happily sat herself down at the piano again, opening a bright red music book.

"What is it you intend to have me play this time, darling? Mozart? Rachmaninov?...Scott Joplin?" He asked with a cautious eye at the book.

She giggled as she propped the book open on the piano and stood from her seat. "It's the song I have been practicing. It seems as though I'm not going to be able to avoid singing for your family sometime this week, so I thought it would at least be a bit easier for me if you played the piano in accompaniment."

He stood for a few seconds, just staring at her imploring smile. He could not refuse her for anything.

"Very well." He seated himself at the piano, facing her. He was giving in to her more and more easily the longer they spent time together.

"It's not so difficult - I learned it myself, so you should have no trouble with it. I can't seem to play it while I sing, though, so..."

He turned his head to face the sheets of music she had placed in front of him - the page was titled _Edelweiss_.

He looked back at her in slight perplexity, "There's a whole song devoted to that simple flower?"

She frowned just the tiniest bit at his hint of arrogance. "It's not just a flower, Georg, it's a symbol for Austria - the ballad is in essence for the country more than the flower - I would think you of all people should know that."

His shoulders fell slightly. Had she just made him feel ashamed? Maybe a little...

But he was tired of people starting sentences with _'You of all people'... _Anytime someone spoke to him about something that would seem elementary, they always used that phrase with him. As if he was some sort of wise, superior genius that should have known everything before they had to explain it to him.

But he knew that was not Agathe's intention. In fact, she was right in this case, and he was willing to admit that to himself.

He pouted exaggeratedly and gave her puppyish eyes. "Must I?"

She looked very much like she was trying to hold in a smile. "If it isn't too _taxing_ for you, Commander."

He shrugged it off and sighed as he looked briefly over the music. The chords were simple, and there weren't even very many notes. It didn't look hard at all.

She stood back and watched as he ran through the scales to warm up his fingers.

In a second, he jumped into the song, playing it in a rather rapid waltz tempo.

"No, no, no, Georg!" Agathe was giggling as he slowed his hands to a tentative stop. Had he been in the wrong key? He squinted in confusion at the pages.

"It's not so fast, darling!" She explained with a kind smile and leaned over the keys to show him the proper timing. "You see?"

He raised his head in understanding. "Ah, yes, of course." He said in his inherent tone of dismissive pride.

She shook her head in fond disapproval and leaned against the piano as he carried out the melody in a pace appropriate for singing to.

When he finished, he looked up at her, seeking her approval. She smiled acceptingly, "Perfect."

"Agathe, dear, I hear the piano in there -" Their heads turned to the voice of her mother coming from behind the doors. "Does this mean you're ready to sing for our guests?"

Georg scoffed for Agathe's sake - her mother really was a pest.

"I'm sorry, mother - I've just been practicing for a while, I'm not quite ready yet." Agathe called out, staring helplessly at Georg.

"Oh nonsense - you've been in there all morning long, I'm sure you'll sound lovely." The sound of her heels clicked away as she called for the others.

Agathe began to panic. Georg wondered how she had the courage to sing at concerts if she was so nervous to sing in front of a small group of people who were close to her. He chuckled lightly, not wanting to irritate her, but wanting at least to calm her down. "Don't worry. I'll play for you - it'll be fine."

She smiled gratefully at him, but there was still uncertainty in her eyes.

"You know my family is so clueless with music - they're hardly critics for singers, trust me." He said with a reassuring smirk.

She gave a nervous laugh and swallowed as the rest of the household filtered in the doors.

"Oh, Georg, are you going to play the piano?" Monica asked in surprise as she sat herself on the divan with a cup of tea. He burst into awkward laughter as he watched her recoil in shock after burning her lip on the edge of the cup.

"Ehm, yes - I thought it would be easier for Agathe if I did the accompaniment."

"Oh, how charming." Odelle murmured sweetly as she overheard.

He shot Agathe a knowing glance but she was too busy staring ahead anxiously to have noticed anything. He saw her fingers twisting behind her skirt and felt a small pang of sympathy. She had no reason to be worried - there was no way her voice could sound anything less than beautiful - if only she knew that.

John took his younger daughter into his lap, "Whenever you're ready, Agathe."

Georg doubted that moment would ever come. He looked at her surely, bringing his hands up to the keys, but she did not give him any signal to start. He scanned their modest audience in a second's time: the pursed look of Agathe's mother, John's complacent expression, his aunt's distraction with balancing the cup on her saucer, his uncle's wry smirk, the expectant looks of the children, Heinrich leaning against the fireplace in disinterest.

Agathe gave him a pleading look but he merely smiled wickedly at her and started into the introductory chords. He heard her deep exhale of breath and softly, she started to sing along with the piano, the rhythmic flow of the song carrying her voice in perfect harmony with his playing.

He knew she had nothing to worry over, she was just as lovely as when he heard her that morning, only being right near her was ever more intoxicating.

About halfway through the song, he had familiarized himself enough with the melody that he did not need to read the music. Instead, he lifted his gaze from the keyboard and watched her as she sang. Her face appeared brighter than was possible given the lighting of the room. He realized too late that he shouldn't have succumbed to staring at her so soon, for now he was absorbed in her.

He hadn't felt nervous until then - and it wasn't because they were being watched, it was because she was looking at him.

She turned to smile at him as she sang one verse, her eyes glowing with some connective secret. In that brief moment that she caught his gaze, the strangest sensation fastened itself into the core of his body, and he felt as though he were unravelling from the inside.

She looked away, and the feeling barely suffused even as her eyes no longer held his.

Something happened there, however fleeting. He would not forget it.

She finished with a slow curtsy and her audience applauded her heartily, showering her with compliments.

"Odelle, she's just outstanding!"

"She's marvelous - a girl like her should be touring all Europe, really." His aunt and uncle gushed.

Even Heinrich no longer looked bored. Abigail stared at her sister with stars of admiration in her eyes.

Odelle made sure to thank Agathe more personally as she passed her closely, giving her a hushed, "Thank you, dear." She pressed her hand onto Georg's shoulder and whispered to him as well, "You were wonderful, darling."

He smiled graciously at her. It felt strange, but not unwelcome to have Agathe's mother refer to him on such close terms.

One of the servants came up to John and told him discreetly that dinner was ready.

"Let's go to dinner then, shall we?" John announced brightly, scooting his son out the door. Heinrich was fast to exit. The two women dismissed themselves understandingly, allowing Georg and Agathe to linger a while longer in the room.

Georg stood up and neared her, taking her hands into his own and rubbing them comfortingly until they ceased their slight trembling.

"You did beautifully - I knew you would." He said tenderly as he stroked her hair back.

"I had butterflies in my stomach." She confided breathily.

"Butterflies?" He questioned softly, his eyebrows quirked in amused puzzlement.

"Yes, you know the feeling I mean." She whispered, gazing slyly up at him. Her fingers gently felt across the span of his chest.

"Perhaps." He admitted deeply.

He let his head fall back slightly as she leaned forward to touch her lips to his throat. He felt his chest tighten. She started to whisper something to him, "I want to-"

"Agathe, Georg, hurry up now! You both already missed lunch today, now I won't have you missing dinner, too."

Good God, that girl's mother picked the worst times to interrupt them.

Agathe laughed softly and rushed out the door, blushing.

He followed her at a much slower pace, unable to keep his mind from wondering what she had been about to say.


	13. The Romeo and Juliet Syndrome

**Chapter 13:**

**The Romeo and Juliet Syndrome**

* * *

As much as they hated to think of it, much less speak of it, the time when Georg had to leave was coming sooner than they had hoped.

Georg had never before had the personal experience of time traveling fast when he did not want it to. Truth be told, he never really enjoyed anything to the extent where he would have dreaded the time when it would come to an end. He would have given up the rest of his life if it meant spending eternity with Agathe. At least that was the way he felt right now.

On the day before he would be leaving, Agathe sleepily made her way down to the dining room for breakfast, disappointed that he was not present. Normally he was the first person to wake up in the whole house. She didn't want to waste a moment's time apart from him, especially when they only had twenty-four hours left together.

"Good morning, sweetheart." Her father said cheerfully as she sat across from him at the table.

"Good morning." She yawned, pulling herself closer to the plate that already been set up for her. She held her glass up for the servant to pour her water.

"I wonder where Georg is - It's not like him to be so late." Monica mused as she eyed Agathe warily.

Agathe shrugged with a sigh. She had nothing to do with his absence, despite what the others might have thought.

She picked up the croissant from her plate and began to tear it in half. Noticing a foreign crackle inside the pastry, she dropped it in surprise.

"What's wrong, Aggie?" Her brother inquired at her odd behavior.

"Nothing," She said quickly, "It's just hot."

She peeked around the table to be sure no one was looking as she carefully pulled the flaky crust apart to reveal a folded up piece of paper.

She bit her lip and hid it in her napkin, bringing it discreetly down to her lap where she could open it safely. Inside it was a note that read in Georg's distinct calligraphy: _Meet me outside at the paddock. _

She grinned to herself. His methods of communicating with her could be somewhat bizzare - he certainly knew how to keep things interesting.

"Excuse me." She said to the table, in a slight fluster as she rose from her seat, hiding the note in her fist.

"You're leaving already, Agathe?" her mother looked at her, confused.

"Yes. I've just realized I'm not that hungry after all." She sighed happily and rushed from the room.

She spotted Georg by the fence to the neighbor's property and broke into a run across the lawn. She always loved the way the open field looked in the morning with the sun having just risen behind it - but the backdrop was infinitely more beautiful when it included his familiar silhouette, waiting for her.

Georg watched her racing toward him in all her authentic Austrian glory. There was no fancy gown or delicately coiffed hairstyle to hinder her free-spirited run across the field of edelweiss. She was just a young woman, in a high-waisted dress the color of green apples, her long brown hair flowing freely behind her - no stockings covered her legs, and she was completely barefoot. And he couldn't have been more enchanted by the sight of her.

She flung herself against him, and he embraced her so tightly that she felt her feet leave the ground. She laughed giddily as his arms enclosed her and he spontaneously kissed her.

How long would they continue to behave this way? No matter what way she looked at it, no matter how she tried to make sense of it, she could not - it was like they were characters in some play. Life felt like fiction when they were together.

"I didn't want to spend the day with you unless we were alone." He said softly as he broke apart from her. His eyes looked almost mad in the filmy orange rays of dawn.

She smiled and dangled the crumpled up note in front of him, shaking her head, "How on earth did you -"

He laughed, "When you've consumed as many croissants as I have while in France, you come to be a little too familiar with the anatomy of the pastry."

She laughed lightheartedly. "You're ridiculous." She kissed him again, unable to satiate herself with his addicting taste.

"It's our last day together - perhaps for half a year." He said regretfully as she clutched the back of his neck.

She sighed despairingly, "Must you say it?"

"I've never felt so sorry to have to leave before." He admitted sadly, letting his fingers comb through her loose hair, trying to memorize the silky texture of each strand.

"Then we can't waste a single minute today." She said adamantly, "We must do everything we've wanted to do, but never had the chance to."

One thought sprung into his mind as she said it. He couldn't help it. He would have suffocated himself if he could have for thinking that way.

But he dismissed the thought from his mind as quickly as it had come.

How could have he denied her anything when her eyes lit up that way? "Anything you want, Agathe."

Georg had said he would never follow a girl everywhere she went - he lied.

He said he would never sing while playing the piano - he lied.

He said he would never learn to love cats - he lied.

He said he would never allow anyone to decorate him with wildflowers - he lied.

He said he would never teach a girl to ride a horse - he lied.

He said he would never steal a stranger's horse to do so - he lied.

He said he would never swim in a lake - he lied.

He said he would never carry a lady halfway up a hill just because she claimed her feet were sore - he lied.

He said he would never dance the Ländler - he lied.

He said he would never kiss a woman more than a hundred times in one day - He was possibly the most dishonest man on the face of the earth.

Agathe Whitehead, in all her profound innocence, had mutilated him for all he knew himself to be.

He was an entirely different person in her presence. He felt worlds away from being on a warship in the middle of the Adriatic.

Everything was so spontaneous, so wonderfully unplanned and uncontrolled. All the things he thought he had despised were suddenly things he could never live without.

For the shortest eighteen hours of his life, he had not a care in the world. But it was gone in the blink of an eye.

On the morning he was to leave, she found him on the balcony to his room, thinking of all the things they could have done together that they might never have the chance to do. It was so early that the moonless sky was still black as ebony. He promised himself that he would wait for the sun to fully rise before he left. Until he saw the full red circle above the horizon line, he was not going anywhere.

She was still in her nightgown as she entwined her arm with his and leaned against his shoulder. "It's so unfair." She whispered against him. He laughed inwardly. That was life, wasn't it? Poor Agathe was so used to getting everything she wanted. Georg was far more accustomed to expect the things he loved to just vanish before his very eyes.

That was why he should have known better. He should have known better than to let himself grow so close to someone. How_ had_ he let it happen anyway?

He could hardly believe she was still here now, right beside him, touching him. Her warmth seemed so faint - as if a mild wind that passed would pick her up and she would disintegrate into the air. Her lips were a raw, erotic red – such a sinful, yet sacred shade.

He was watching the last embers of her fire burn, their scarlet sparkle growing dimmer and dimmer - and there was nothing he could do to stop them from becoming cold, black clumps of coal.

He nervously felt his pocket, extracting the silver chain from its hiding place. He would have to give it to her now. How ironic that his intention was to give it to her on the day of his arrival, and he would end up presenting it to her on the day of his departure. His life was full of irony these days.

He exhaled and shifted so that he faced her properly. "Georg...what is this?" She asked as she noticed the piece of jewelry in his hands.

"It was a gift for you - I'm sorry I didn't give it to you sooner. I wanted to wait for the right moment... but there never will be a right moment when we don't have all the time in the world."

She stared at the necklace with an almost frightened look on her face. He smiled weakly at her as he carefully slipped his hands beneath her hair to latch it behind her neck. She reached blindly down to feel the glinting opal pendant, her expression still utterly unreadable.

Suddenly, she whirled around, turning her back to him. He was confused by her gesture, but there was always some underlying feeling of understanding for her every action. He did not move to pull her around or even ask her what was wrong. She would tell him on her own.

After a few seconds, she turned to face him, and his heart broke when he saw the tears in her eyes. "Georg - you didn't have to-"

"It just seemed right." He amended quickly. His voice was uncharacteristically strained. She gazed down at the jewel where it laid just above her breasts. His own eyes lingered on the pendant hungrily. She looked up at him furtively as he continued to stare at the center of her chest. A breathless moment passed where she felt her lungs fill with a thick heat under his deep blue gaze. His expression was so serious, so concentrated...she could dare to guess what he was thinking - she wanted to die.

His eyes traveled slowly up to meet her own. It was incredible how much she could see in those simple blue pools, how many feelings she could receive, how they could ignite that sensitive fire in her heart.

She could not take the intimate sound of his breathing right then. She thrust herself into his arms and kissed him passionately to silence him.

But that did not silence him. He instead breathed heavily into her, his heart beat so hard against her breast that she worried it would bruise her. He kissed her back so violently that her lips were battered; he held her so tenaciously that it hurt her.

She wanted him even more because of it - she wanted him in any way - she wanted him even if he would do nothing but cause her that pain.

Because pain was such a beautiful feeling when it came from him.

They were just meters away from the bed - they had almost twenty minutes left before he had to leave...

She pushed at him to go back into the bedroom, but he held her in place. His tongue found hers suddenly and her knees buckled.

There was only so much time they could spend like this before they fell over the edge - only so much time before it was out of their control.

The sound of people talking in the driveway saved them from falling. He pulled away from her, but did not let go of her waist. He stared down at her with most pain in his expression that Agathe had ever been able to see. "Don't leave me." She pleaded uselessly, clawing at his shirt.

He brushed away the tears from her cheek, but the caring action only made her cry more. There was nothing he could say to comfort her when he could not even comfort himself. "Promise me that I'll see you the next time you are on land." She said between quiet sobs.

"It will be at Gateshead." He said gently, rubbing her back in attempt to calm her.

She gave him a small smile. "Promise me that I will see you there." She repeated, lowering her voice to a whisper.

"You will." He said quietly, not able to bring himself to say the words '_I promise'._

She narrowed her eyes, causing the tears they harbored to flow.

He walked back into the house, but she would not let go of his hand.

"I -" She started to say something, but choked on her words.

"It's all going to turn out fine." He said, half trying to assure himself. He gave her his signature wry smile. "Don't cry, Agathe." He ordered humorously.

She laughed sadly, and finally let go of his hand. She watched him walk down the stairs and he turned to look once back at her in the entrance hall.

His smile conveyed all the sureness and confidence that she could not muster.

It broke her heart to have to see him leave. How had she let him go the first time? He was always leaving her...

She ran back into his room and collapsed on the bed, sobbing uncontrollably. Even if she did get to see him again, there would be another time of parting that followed it. Thinking of it that way made it seem ever more hopeless...She would have given anything if it only meant that she would never have to say goodbye to him again.

The whole time he knew her was a blur when he thought back on it. Half-formed images of her mocking smile, her white dress billowing like wings around her as she waded through the tide, her elegant fingers laced within his own, her bare, slender legs as she ran through the edelweiss.

Why hadn't he touched her more? Why hadn't he kissed her more? Why hadn't he indulged himself in those chances he had to take her to his bed? Why?

Would it have made what was already bittersweet even more torturous?

The ride back to his home seemed to go on forever. He watched the scenery fly past through the window, not really seeing anything, just taking in the faint colors, the shapeless forms of trees and hills...that same scenery which had seemed so beautiful on the way to her home now seemed monotonous and annoying as they drove back. Although the sun was slowly growing brighter as they drove on, Georg felt the weight of a private darkness crushing in around him. It was as if he could feel the distance between them, pulling and stretching...

He arrived at his home for the first time in a year, but he did not enjoy anything about the brief visit. Everything was so insignificant; he felt so dry, so empty...

For that first morning back, his eyes did not see, his ears did not hear, his skin did not feel, his tongue did not taste. He drew the curtains closed, not wanting to feel the false warmth of the sun that he felt had betrayed his feelings. He was much more at ease when the darkness of the room matched the darkness of his heart. Robotically, he paced the length of the room, unaware of how many hours had passed him by. His thoughts were haunted by her image - he grew panicked as he found it took more and more effort to summon the details of her face. He wished for utter silence just to remember the subtleties of her voice.

How he despised the churning of unquenched desire in his gut; having to listen to the tormenting sound of his own breathing in that dark room that no longer held any familiarity to him.

He fixed his eyes on the gilded handle of his door - Should he clutch it with his hand and turn it, force the door open, and escape this madness that he had somehow fallen into?

He knew there was nothing outside that door but hallway..endless hallway, more gilded walls, more Renaissance tapestries, more windows gleaming with the sunlight that he would not allow to touch his sacred darkness...

His eyes adjusted to the dark room against his will - he would have preferred just to lose himself in deep, black nothingness - to hide himself from himself. He did not want to face the reality of what he did not even know he was running from. He was afraid to leave the comforting darkness. The power of distraction was far too dangerous for him to venture into the light. For where there was no light, there was no reality, there were no problems; there were only his thoughts. And his thoughts he could control.

But he could not control the light from infecting his eyes. When his vision caught up with him he was out of his own hands yet again. He had no choice but to gaze madly around the room and watch the slivers of sunlight melting in the corners of the walls, the shadows of unseen figures sweeping across the floor, painted cherubs playing within the perimeter of a golden frame...The oppression of it all was too much to bear.

As soon as he judged it to be near evening, he freed himself from the bedroom and answered the calls of his aunt to come to dinner.

He had forgotten the sensation that was associated with hunger. That night he experienced it full force for the first time in many months.

The sinking feeling in his gut seemed momentarily subdued by filling himself with food. He had a naturally sizable appetite, as many men his age did, however food had never before been as much of a weakness as it had been for him that evening.

He was thinking of food in such an absurdly capricious manner that it would have frightened him had he not been so engulfed in satisfying himself.

Was this what it had come to, then? Was he so sexually frustrated that he had resorted to food for satiation?

His aunt reprimanded him in distant cries of which he could not make out her exact words, only that her screams were comically operatic - something about how he was 'making such a scene,' or something along those lines.

He found himself buried in an odd feeling of guilt shortly following his reckless devouring. He never thought he would see the day when he succumbed to emotional eating.

His heart was inflamed with a sense of powerlessness that he abhorred beyond anything else. The notion that he might lose control again became something to be avoided at all costs.

He tried to sleep that night but he thought of nothing but her - he imagined her so deeply that he could have fooled himself into thinking that she lay beside him, if even for a split second in time.

The span of his imagination only stretched so far - he wanted the real thing.

Throwing himself from the bed, he reached for the nearest object in sight and hurled it against the wall. He watched with some amount of sick satisfaction as the cologne bottle cracked open and his ears relished in the crystal shatter of the glass on the floor. His breathing settled considerably at the lull that followed the blast. It was strange how he seemed to have an almost sexual reaction to throwing things in a temper flare. If the setting had been more appropriate he would have purged the entire room of each breakable object...he had been able to do so on only one other occasion, and he had been told never to repeat it. But that wouldn't have stopped him tonight...at least he thought not.

The aroma of the spilled liquid grew stronger and heavier as it filtered through the room. His lungs clenched, his eyes watered, and he began to feel ill. The oppression was back.

Donning the first sensible outfit he could find, he stormed from the house and ran out to the stables in the middle of the humid night.

Ignoring his body's feverish protests against such strenuous action, he mounted the fastest red mare, without bothering to put a saddle on her, and had her race across the fields, willing all the negative energy out of his system.

It had been so long since he rode Rosaline. He recalled the days back when he was just fifteen years old, and she was his greatest love. Her large black eyes held all of his secrets, they understood everything she told him, and they did not reveal anything to another living soul.

She still remembered him to this day. She responded to his orders, knew the touch of his hands on her mane, the force of his heels against her flanks.

He had a sense of appreciation for her loyalty to him, and it settled him somewhat...but only just.

He needed Agathe. Whether or not that was a fact or merely an illusion of his hectic mind, he did not know. But he did know that he never before felt so tortured over a woman.

The most extraordinary thing about the torture she caused him was that he did not mind it as he should have. He was losing sleep, overeating, losing control of his temper, and shutting himself in his room. But he was, to the most staggering level, enjoying that feeling of disarrayed emptiness.

He supposed it was because something told him he would see her again. And he did believe that they would see each other again. But he was not completely positive, and he never liked to be anything short of completely positive on any matter.

It was that uncertainty that he blamed for his behavior. He had not promised Agathe that he would see her at Gateshead, even though he knew she wanted him to say the words. But in a way, now, he wished he had for his own sake...

Was Agathe anything near as troubled as he was? He doubted that she had tossed glass bottles against her mirror in a tantrum, but he guessed her to be suffering at some level, perhaps not as intense as he was, but suffering nonetheless.

In a way he was soothed to know that he was not alone in the feeling. There was someone else on the other end of it all, wishing for him, perhaps in the same way he wished for her.

He reluctantly brought Rosaline back into her stall, and looked into her deep, glassy eyes for a long while. She had the most calming effect on him, and although it wasn't enough to ease all the pain, he felt he would be able to finally end the night.

It was nearly the break of dawn when he returned to his bedroom. He hadn't bothered to shut the curtains, he hadn't bothered to close the door... And he hadn't even bothered to avoid stepping on the fragments of glass on the floor. He did not look down at his feet once on his way to the bed.

He was used to leaving behind a trail of blood.


	14. Sojourning Serendipity

**Chapter 14:**

** Sojourning Serendipity **

* * *

The war inside one's heart must be cast aside when a war is raging in the world.

It seemed petty to say that his heart was a microcosm for the war he was fighting on the seas, but he harbored the pain and longing that still stormed within him with unceasing dignity, as deliberately as he fought. Each day he was in survival mode for the next few months of torture, breaking himself into being on his own again.

He was in a strange sort of mourning period for his loss of Agathe for the first month or so; ignoring commands, making stupid mistakes, daydreaming at the wrong times. But he eventually wore himself out with self-pity and ceased his sulking as soon as it hit him. He was better than that.

The longer he was away, the more confident he became that he and Agathe would meet again. He began to wonder why he had ever had doubts that they would. It wasn't like he was about to die - of course other men died, but he always seemed to get by. At times it bothered him. He didn't seem to deserve that kind of invincibility.

The first stop was the port in Gateshead, as he had told Agathe two months prior. Initially, he had bad associations with the place, but now he could not help remembering it as anything else but the place where he'd first met her. Everything from the filthy streets to the overcast sky looked beautiful in an odd way...

John had spoken vaguely about Agathe possibly coming back to see him here, but he had also said something about the dangerous atmosphere of the island being a stopper for her visit. Georg doubted that anything would stop her from coming to see them, no matter what the risks.

It had started out as a rather disappointing first week on the island. The ships were shifting crewmembers around yet again, and Arthur had unluckily been moved onto a separate ship that would not be staying at port for the rest of the week. It was the first time Georg had not been on the same crew as him and it made him realize how few close relationships he had with any other men on their ship. Of course, he still had John. Hopefully, he would not be going anywhere any time soon.

Georg had planned to return to the very store that he and Agathe had first met in, but John had insisted that if she were coming with his brother, they would not be anywhere in the village streets. It was strange for an island of such detestable reputation, but Gateshead had an exceptionally upstanding and creditable maritime station. It was what made Gateshead one of the central ports in their route. It was truly a shame that there was so much corruption surrounding it; however, it made for a less conspicuous place to restock without the knowledge of other fleets.

John had been busy since the moment they arrived, eager to study the submarines in the marina. There was talk that very soon they would be using submarines as their main warships. Georg was indifferent about the notion, but he had to admit it would be a pain to go through training again in order to be compatible in a different mode of transportation.

Georg remembered Gateshead being far more entertaining the last time he was there. The memory, he supposed, was biased either by Agathe's first appearance, or by Arthur's ability to find humor in everything around them. There really was nothing to do except watch the ships being reloaded or follow the rest of his crewmembers during the evenings where they would meet at some obscure tavern in the village and drink themselves to paradise.

He was not interested in either option at the moment.

"Make sure your money is in your jacket pockets." A furtive male voice said in his ear as he walked out onto the street. He veered his head around to see the Captain, nodding towards him as he made his way back into the marina.

Georg quickly stuffed whatever spare cash he had on him into the inside of his jacket. He had forgotten about pickpockets in the area.

The strumming of foreign instruments from the streets met his ears, but so did another sound - one that was too familiar to even name.

Frantically, he turned to bolt back up the ramp to the marina, and on the dock stood the laughing figure of his crystal-eyed angel.

John drew forward to pull Georg towards their small group, and immediately Agathe surprised them all by flinging herself into Georg's arms. John, however, looked nothing short of pleased at her forwardness.

"I've missed you terribly, Georg!" She gushed adoringly as she giddily fussed with the collar of his jacket. It was as if they never left each other. Being with her was so easy, there was no need for any transition.

"Oh, naturally," He joked, prodding her hands away. She made a face at him that could hardly be contorted properly because of her smile.

She was so radiant. He always forgot how beautiful she was until they were face to face.

"Georg, why don't you take Agathe into the village? She's been begging me to take her since she arrived, but I really am far too busy.." John implied with feigned exhaustion. He hadn't given up trying to put them together, Georg was quite grateful to see.

"Of...course, sir." He returned Agathe's knowing smile and took her hand.

"Just be sure you're back by seven or so." John called after them cheerily.

"We will." They both responded simultaneously. Agathe's lighthearted giggles were the sweetest sound Georg had heard in the longest time.

As they retreated to the crowded street, Agathe inhaled deeply the smell of salt, spice and sand. The scenery was exactly as she remembered: the beach, the water, the colors of bustling people speaking a myriad of languages. There was so much for one pair of eyes to drink in, so much business, so many faces, so many sounds. It was, as Monica had so perfectly put it, like a setting from a novel.

She clutched possessively to Georg's sleeve as he led her through the streets, eyeing various people suspiciously. At one point, a possessed looking young woman with hair redder than flames wearing a filthy but royal looking dress approached him and began what sounded like pleading in a completely foreign tongue that Agathe did not recognize at all. Georg spoke carefully to her in broken words, trying to make her understand something as he gently shooed her off.

"What did she want?" Agathe asked, guessing the answer was money. Georg briefly turned to look back at where he'd left the girl, and said lowly, "I think she thought I was someone she knew."

"What language was she speaking?"

"I think it was a very primitive version of Arabic...I'm not very familiar with it. She may have been Persian."

Agathe glared back at the girl who was now busy fingering through a dazzling array of silver beads from a vendor that had caught her own eye just moments ago.

"I'm surprised everyone here seems so well dressed considering the conditions." she remarked as Georg was nearly knocked over by a small boy carrying a monkey on his back. Georg threw an utterly confused glance at the child and his pet, then continued the conversation, unfazed. "That's because most of their possessions have been stolen by smugglers of the best sort from all over the world. The police force here is thoroughly corrupt, so they can get away with it." He said pityingly.

They arrived at a quaint looking store at the end of the street where there were not as many crowds. Georg opened the door and jerked his head as a gesture that she should enter. An elderly woman dressed in various afghan robes stood up from behind a desk. She gave an exclamation in what Agathe immediately identified as French. With a look of relief, Georg initiated a fluid conversation with the woman, French being one of his stronger languages.

Agathe smiled surreptitiously as she listened to him speak, conscious of the way his pronunciation was formed so beautifully with the tone of his voice.

"Merci." He finished as the woman exited through the back door. Agathe gazed around the small room at the shelves full of exotic looking jewelry, bottles, and sculptures surrounding her, covering every spare inch of the stucco walls. A large, very intimidating looking cactus stood in the foggy window and a sleeping macaw could be seen in a cage hanging from the ceiling in the corner of the room.

The sound of rushed footsteps and a faint jingling could be heard from the room behind them. The door opened to reveal a beautiful, Indian looking lady in the back stairwell, gazing at them with eyes the color of a cat's.

"Amrita." Georg stated clearly.

At first Agathe had thought him to be beginning a sentence in another language, but the woman regarded him with surprise, and she realized it must be her name.

"Georg Von Trapp?" The woman asked in her slight accent.

"You remember me." Georg stated rather than asked as he stepped closer to where she stood. She brought her hands up to her heart and exclaimed "Ah, Georg, how could I forget?"

His face broke into a full smile as she tossed her arms around his shoulders in a fond embrace, her multiple hoop earrings clanging against each other and the sound of beads swishing on the bottom of her long plum colored skirt as she trotted towards him. "It's been a long time, no?" She said cheerfully, bringing her hands up to frame his face.

Agathe stepped timidly forward.

"This is Agathe Whitehead." Georg introduced her quickly, and brought her up beside him. Amrita took Agathe's hand in her own and held it reverently.

"Allah bless you." She said mystically, her yellow eyes gleaming kindly.

Georg smiled amusedly at her and turned back to Amrita with a more serious air. "Amrita, dear, I have to exchange some Austrain currency for Viking coins - and you are the only person around here that I trust to give me an honest transaction." He said with a winning smile, retrieving the money from his jacket.

Amrita smiled brilliantly, her braclets jingling as she made her way behind the desk. "Yes, yes! I give you Viking coins."

Agathe jumped as the parrot in the cage woke with a start and began repeating the woman's last words at a comical volume. "Viking coins! Viking coins! Braaach!"

Georg glanced at the animal contemptuously without moving his head. His eyes went briefly to Agathe, and back to Amrita as she hummed to herself, rummaging behind the desk. Agathe giggled to herself and watched the bird's beady eyes dart back and forth and its neck puff outward as it ruffled its green and yellow feathers.

The bell on the door jangled as it open and shut rather forcefully, and a gruff voice came from the store's entrance, "Now what would a distinguished Commander of the navy be doing in an old hag's house like this?"

All three occupants turned to regard a haggard looking man with a stubbly beard and an unsettling pair of dark, glassy eyes, standing enigmatically in the doorway.

Georg returned knowingly, "What would a distinguished smuggler of the century be doing in said Commander's presence?"

The scruffy man approached Georg with a rough smile on his face, slapping him heartily on the back. "Giraldo and I thought we'd never see you among us urchins again!"

"How is Giraldo?" Georg asked the man conversationally.

"Oh, he's as good as he'll ever be. Got a lot goin' on with the canals bein' re-worked."

"The canals were closed?"

"Oh yeah. For a whole three months. But since then, trades have been booming!"

"Hm."

The stranger's eyes wandered toward Agathe. "And who might you be?" He questioned her, his voice softening considerably when regarding a lady.

"Agathe, sir." She said primly, though she thought better than to hold out her hand to him.

The man's gaze returned to Georg and his eyes glinted maliciously. "You've been showing a young lady around Gateshead, then, have you? I don't think your Captain would have much good to say about that." He added with a knowing chuckle.

Georg looked slightly affronted. "She's not - she's just my - my -"

Agathe hastily interrupted his stuttering, "I came only to visit him. Commander Von Trapp is my husband."

The man's eyebrows shot up at her false revelation. And Georg looked a notch more surprised than he.

From the corner of the room, the parrot screeched after her, "Von Trapp is my husband! Von Trapp is my husband! Braacch!"

Georg looked as though he wanted nothing more than to punch someone.

The smuggler erupted into severe laughter. "When are you gonna fry that bloody bird, Amrita?" He shouted with a gesture towards the parrot's cage.

Amrita's visage transcended to shock, her eyes white and wide in her brown face. "Darshilly is a good bird! He stays with me!" She countered huffily.

The smuggler shook his head with a glare at the puffed up parrot, "Sheesh."

"Felix, I was just wondering if you knew anyone around these parts who owns a luxury ship - not for serious transportation, just so that I can take my..er...Agathe out to sea for one evening." Georg suggested, with a sideways glance at Agathe. She stared at him in surprise.

Felix scratched his beard in thought, "Well, I would lend you one of mine, but they're all out trading now - early in the season you know?" He added with a wink.

"_Luxury_ ship, Felix." Georg repeated emphatically.

"Who said I don't sail in luxury?" He huffed with an innocent shrug.

"You don't want a lovely young lady like her out on the wrong kind of ship, now do you?" Georg asked, with a gesture towards Agathe, who smiled sweetly.

Felix furrowed his brow, "Well...you should talk to my friend, Vennet Khang. He's notorious for his transports - he can get you to Timbuktu and back all in one night!"

Georg sighed. "I don't need a transport, I just need a ship that's at least reputable; _not _a warship, and most definitely not a smuggling ship."

"All right, all right. Just trust me, talk to Commodore Khang. He'll get you something."

Georg glanced nervously at Agathe and inquired suspiciously, "He's not, ah, serpentine, is he?"

Felix smiled understandingly, "He's a fine man!" His scruffy brows narrowed suddenly as he felt through his back pocket and extracted a long colorful peacock feather.

He shrugged and handed it to Georg absently, "Here - have a feather."

Georg quirked his eyebrows in confusion as the silky blue plume was stuffed into his hand.

"Georg.. your coins." Amrita said, smiling, as she placed a small burlap bag wrapped with a golden string into his other hand.

"Thank you, Amrita." He said politely. She brought her hands together in a praying gesture under her chin and bowed her head humbly.

"So, where can I find this, ah, Commodore Vennet Kang?" Georg asked subtly, but not without interest as he emptied the contents of his hands into Agathe's behind him.

"He owns an extensive dock up by the Devil's Horns. You'll find him there in the morning...he conducts business elsewhere in the evenings. But I'll put in a good word with him for you, kid." Felix said with a smirk.

"That's fine... Come along, dear." Georg said slyly, grasping Agathe's hand and heading to the door.

"Come along dear! Come along dear! Raaarccch!"


	15. Over and Out

**Chapter 15:**

** Over and Out**

* * *

"No no, that's entirely wrong."

"How can that be wrong?"

"If you saluted a Captain like that, he'd have you tossed off the ship within the second."

Agathe blushed lightly as Georg took her hand and lifted it to her eye level. She let it go limp, not at all voluntarily, so that he could position it against her forehead at an inclined angle. He fashioned it properly until it was to his satisfaction, then released her.

"Now," He said with habitual haste, looking down proudly at her. She flourished her hand the way he taught her to and let it fall to her side again.

He executed a frustratingly perfect salute in response, at a much more severe level than she had. He looked so beautifully legitimate performing the gesture with such practiced harshness. She imagined no less would be expected of him in his position.

He gave her a small, teasing smile and her heart fluttered. She bit down on her mirthful grin and stared out at the vast scape of never-ending sea.

She waited until she saw his head turn from the corner of her eye, and considered it safe to regard him more thoroughly without notice.

She was in the middle of the Adriatic, with a brilliant, picture perfect sunset, and still all she wanted to look at was the man standing beside her. His profile was the only sight that could take her very breath away.

She'd never seen his expression before quite the way it was now. His gaze was straight and unwavering, as though he knew exactly where to look when confronted with such a stunning vista. But his eyes were fully open, fully aware, not distant at all. They held within their starlit depths a sense of wonderment that was almost childlike, but an even deeper sense of passion that was as mature as one could hope to be.

Seeing him juxtaposed against the sky and water was like seeing an angel juxtaposed against heaven. He simply belonged there - the sight was so captivating that she forgot she was staring at reality, not her imagination.

She felt a burning drive deep inside her to reach out and touch him, but she held back. Even after so much time, she was still not fully comfortable with how he might react to her every action. She tore her gaze away from him and regained her composure, pining for something to say to earn his distraction.

"I imagine that even our Captain is rather intimidated knowing that you are on his ship." She said, enlightened by her own wit.

His eyes warmed instantly and he laughed appreciatively at her remark. Any caress to his ego always delighted him - it was utterly horrible, but she found it endlessly adorable.

"I'm sure _everyone_ is intimidated knowing I'm on this ship." He quipped darkly. She looked at him in surprise and cleared her throat pointedly.

"_Except, _of course, you, Fraulein." he said richly, with a humorous smirk.

She recoiled playfully under his gaze, "On second thought..." She began suggestively.

He laughed adoringly, his eyes brimming with fondness as he brushed a few coppery strands of hair behind her ear that had escaped by way of the wind.

She turned to survey the water with a mocking air of superiority and said in a pompous voice that was most amusing, "Do you estimate we're going at a rate of about seventy knots?"

He burst into unforgiving laughter. "Are you even familiar with the nautical units of speed, Fraulein Whitehead?"

She giggled without answering him, a bright blush making her fair cheeks rosy.

"Tsk tsk...You're father would be most disappointed." He tutted disapprovingly, shaking his head at her.

"Well, correct me, then." She said with coy expectancy after a short pause.

He gazed over the rushing water, and said surely, "It's more on the end of twenty, I'd say." He eyed her mockingly. "And not fast enough, under my personal preference." He added with a teasing air of haughtiness.

She moved gingerly closer to him, "And how fast do you prefer to go, Commander von Trapp?" She questioned flirtatiously.

He regarded her with pure amusement but kept a straight smirk on his face as he replied with unabashed slyness, "Faster than the rest, darling...faster than the rest."

"Hm," she sized him up for a moment, then considered the length of the railing from the side of the boat to the front. Slowly, she began to walk towards the bow, and he followed her silently, unsuspecting of anything.

She stared disappointedly at the sizable shallow wall ahead of them, obstructing her contact with the true front of the boat. Springing into action before she second guessed herself, she stepped out of her heeled shoes and placed one tiny bare foot on the beveled inlay of the shallow wall, gripping the top with her hand.

"Agathe..." he uttered her name with a note of warning, frozen in his place, "Where do you think you're going?" He asked almost rhetorically, watching her every movement with obsessive attentiveness.

She accentuated her intended course of action by hoisting herself up onto the wall and a bit less than gracefully bringing her legs to dangle over the opposite side.

"Agathe." He said it deep and quick.

She smiled mischievously at him and nimbly lowered herself to the other side, using the bevels as a ladder. She looked up at him, challengingly, relieved to see the amused smirk on his face. She had feared a bit that he would be angry with her.

He shook his head, again tutting in mock disapproval, "The impropriety."

"Come now, Commander, you're not afraid of breaking the rules, are you?" She taunted, swinging girlishly from the metal mast.

"Usually I'm the one _making _the rules, these days." He said regretfully.

"Well if you can't be behind the wheel, you might as well be at the very head of the ship." She suggested brightly, gesturing to the railing in front of her.

He looked down almost wistfully at the uncovered plane of the bow. With a heavy sigh, he began removing his jacket. Agathe swallowed her unexpected nerves as he deftly climbed over the wall and jumped down from the second bevel. She gave a crystal laugh of sudden giddiness and leapt up onto the unsubstantial rails of the front-most point of the ship, holding to the light-pole for support. In a fraction of a second, she felt Georg's shockingly firm grip on her waist, and gasped involuntarily. The sound of the waves crashing against the body of the boat drowned out her telltale utterance. He held her so tightly that his hands nearly fit the entire span of her waist.

She was unsure if the sudden sensation of ecstasy came from the up close access to the moving sea, or Georg's hard grasp on her middle. The intimate timbre of his voice in her ear made her slightly more certain it was the latter. "If we were over the ocean we might be able to see dolphins or killer whales down there."

She leaned further over the rail to look at the wild white foam at the base of the ship, reveling a little too much in the feel of his strong hands seizing her back against him. "Ah ah ah - that's too dangerous." He gently chastised, "I'd rather not see you swimming in the Adriatic."

She smiled out of his sight. "If I fell overboard, would you jump in after me, Commander?"

He gazed thoughtfully at her. "I assure you, I would have no other choice, Agathe."

Her cheeks grew florid with pleasure, hearing the brash truth in his voice. Something about him and the way he spoke was so invincibly trustworthy. The notion that he would risk his life for her in a second without a single thought was so unbearably romantic. She knew he had done it countless times in the Navy, and he had been well recognized for his deeds. It flattered her that he put her life on the same level as those of his comrades.

The muffled sound of birds calling above them prompted her to look up suddenly. Four white, long-winged birds glided majestically over them towards the bright orange horizon. "Look! Are they seagulls?" She gestured to the birds as they grew more distant.

"They're not seagulls, they're Night Herons." He said with patient intelligence.

"Night Herons." Agathe repeated softly.

"Yes, seagulls are much smaller...and their call is infinitely more unpleasant." He said with bemusement as he watched the birds melt into tiny slits against the sunset.

She shivered in the strong gust of wind and he wound his arms around her to pull her down from her unsteady perch. "You're making me nervous, Agathe." He said in soft seriousness. She shivered again, this time not from the wind.

She surrendered to his sturdy arms and clung dependently to the crisp fabric of the shirt around his back. He led her back against the railing, her feet no longer on the second bar, but on the floor.

His arms came around her on either side to rest his hands on the rail, efficiently trapping her between them.

She glimpsed shyly down at her bare feet against his immaculate black shoes. She fidgeted a bit more than usual because of their forced closeness, always craning her head to get a better view of the water.

"Hold still." he commanded, his order decapsulated by the achingly soft tone he used to say it.

She obeyed without question, her heart pulsing as his arms closed in slightly, further narrowing her space. Her need for constant movement relaxed substantially as she listened to the calming rhythm of his breathing.

She brought her hand up, comparing it to his own - how small it looked when she set it beside his...just like her feet did. She glanced down again and suppressed the sudden laugh that threatened to burst from her.

She gazed back to the water, and laid her head back against his chest.

"So, I'm your husband, now, am I?" He asked teasingly, referring to her earlier amendment when she had told Felix they were married. She was startled both by the suddenness of his inquiry and more so by the content.

"Oh.." She muttered with a nervous laugh, "I was just playing around a bit." She said, trying to sound nonchalant, but instead coming off as flustered.

She expected him to say something, but he was silent. Somehow his failure to respond with anything more than heavy breathing behind her made it all the more intimate.

Gently, he pressed his arms tighter around her, and slipped one hand down to rest against her midriff. A sensation something like a million tiny blossoms bursting into bloom all through her body responded to his simple action.

He slowly pinned her against him, and she struggled slightly with her nerves as she distinctly felt his lungs expand against her back.

She released a barely audible whimper of contentment as he started a path of slow, sensual kisses along her neck.

Georg thought briefly of what another passenger on the boat would have thought seeing them there, kissing on the bow of the ship, somewhere no one was supposed to be. The thought alone brought him some amount of pleasure.

"Georg," her breathy voice met his ears tentatively, "I'm getting wet."

Georg nearly sputtered with disbelieving laughter. But it did not take him long to realize she was referring to the spray of water hitting her from over the edge of the boat. Grinning with amusement out of her view, he pulled her back from the railing.

"C'mon, we should get back up on deck." he whispered scandalously.

She followed him without protest, watching his graceful ascent back over the wall. She cautiously made her way up after him, unused to climbing over things, being the well-bred lady that she was. She heard him laugh as she approached the top and he reached over to grab her hand. He gallantly lifted her off the wall, and she reached down for her shoes where she left them. She stopped and looked up as he cleared his throat, and noticed an elderly crewmember on the balcony from the upper deck watching them, a look of mild shock on his face.

Agathe glanced at Georg, who grinned cheekily up at the man, as he candidly flung his jacket about his arms and proceeded to button it fluently.

Agathe burst into a fit of silent laughter, hearing Georg laughing furtively as well. The old man casually walked back from the direction he came, and Georg's gorgeous laugh flowed freely from his chest. "I hope word doesn't get out too fast about my behavior!" He said between gasps as he struggled to re-link his cuffs.

Agathe laughed musically as she helped him with the other wrist. "It should - your behavior has been inexcusable of late!"

"You're making damn good sure of that, Fraulein!"

"Oh!" She scoffed unforgivingly as she seated herself on the ledge of the wall. She made a grab for her shoes again, but Georg's hand reached them first.

He kneeled down by her legs and politely placed the shoes on her feet, still shaking with silent laughter. She watched in furtive wonderment as he deftly hitched the complex buckles that had taken her months to master. This was the first time he'd seen them and he buckled them even faster than she did after so much practice, without fumbling or missing the latch. It was little things like that that enhanced her fascination with him.

He offered her his hand again and she took it, balancing herself in place. She stared into his eyes dreamily for a moment, nearly sure he was going to kiss her. But he turned his head rapidly at the sound of the bell and said anxiously, "C'mon, we're pulling into the harbor."

He tugged her arm as he headed back up the stairs to the upper deck, allowing her time for one last look at the fading red globe of the sun as it hid behind the endless blanket of sea.

Agathe couldn't have been more content with the evening as she walked arm in arm with Georg across the dock. Her legs, however were regretfully not as used to the amount of walking that had to be done as his were.

"How much longer is it back to the marina?" She asked tiredly, leaning against him as he continued his frustratingly swift pace.

He laughed softly at her and said reassuringly, "It's not far now, see?" He pointed ahead of their path to the grey building lined with white lights.

A tiny red sparkle caught her eye as they passed the beach. She stopped suddenly in her tracks and let her eyes pass over the sand. _Rubies_. She remembered.

"What's wrong?" Georg asked sternly.

She pointed to the sand and said, suddenly less than sleepy, "This is where your aunt said she found gemstones!"

He stared inexpressively at her for a moment, then sighed with a helpless glance heavenward. "Yes, go on," he permitted with a curt incline of his head toward the beach. She trotted rapidly across the detour ramp, and paused before she stepped into the sand.

She flipped off her shoes and sunk her toes into the smooth dust.

It was the most wonderful feeling ever, even more wonderful than grass beneath her feet. She recalled first feeling it many months ago; she had been with him then, too.

She smiled as she walked slowly through the sand, watching her feet sink under the surface with each step.

"This is the second time today you've run away from me and taken off your shoes." Georg's mock chiding tone came from back on the ramp.

She swallowed and looked up at him lovingly; amusement was radiant in his eyes.

"I've only felt the sand once before." She said dreamily.

"I know." He said quietly, glancing quickly down at her bare feet.

She heard the distinct sound of two thumps behind her on the wooden boards, but she didn't look back. She was determined to find a ruby before the evening ended.

"Digging for gold, Fraulein?" he asked in a high pitched lilt that made her stomach somersault and her mind go momentarily blank.

"Uhm, no..." She turned to regard him where he stood, behind her and instantly wished she had waited until she'd finished her sentence, or at least her thought.

He had removed his shoes and cuffed the bottoms of his pants to not touch the sand; his jacket was gone, draped across the wooden railing. The sea-scented breeze ruffled his hair so that a few dark strands fell onto his forehead, juxtaposed against his furrowed brow as he looked at her confusedly in her strange lengthy pause.

Her mind flew back to a conscious state as she stared at him, but she still could not form words.

"Agathe?" His gentle voice saying her name snapped her out of her thoughts. Realizing her mouth was agape, she clamored to form coherent words, "Oh, I'm sorry - I was, ehm, looking for the rubies."

He raised his eyebrows, "Oh." he smoothed the front of his shirt as the wind passed over him. "Well you shouldn't have to dig for them."

"No?" She trailed lamely, staring down at the sand beneath his feet.

"They're uh, near the shoreline..." He said softly, holding his hand out for her. She pulled herself up by his hand and brushed her skirt off as he pulled her towards the water.

She watched him study the sand around their feet closely, then he dropped to one knee and brushed off a small red stone. She drew closer and he brought his palm up, the scarlet gem shimmering in his broad hand.

She carefully picked up the delicate stone between her fingers and estimated its size by comparing it to the nail of her baby finger. Just as Georg had said, it fit just within the small boundaries of her nail.

"Thank you." She whispered breathily.

"Mh hm." He mumbled a reply, grunting lightly as he brought himself back up to his feet.

"What's that?" Agathe asked suddenly, pointing to something small and white the wave had brought up onto the sand.

"I don't know, let's see." he said, setting his feet carefully into the tide.

He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows, and bending down at his waist, he picked up the small object and turned it over in his hands, examining it. She stepped into the water after him, jumping slightly at how cold the temperature was.

He showed her the object, smiling, "It's just a seashell." He presented her the small fanned clamshell. It looked so perfect, just like in the pictures, with stripes of pink, peach and white color.

"It's lovely." She said as she stroked the even ridges.

He laughed loftily, "But there are many more, Agathe, and they're much more beautiful than that."

"I have seen another sort of shell - but only in pictures. It's much bigger than this, and I think it's hollow -"

He interrupted her, "Ah yes, I think you're talking about a _conch shell - _they're very rare." She looked down. "But before we leave, I'll find one for you." He said surely, squinting as he scanned the shoreline. She gazed lovingly up at him - was there nothing he wouldn't do for her?

His signature half smile was the last thing she saw before he pulled her against his body and gently consumed her lips with his own. He kissed her with slow forceful pressure, and pulling away, let his warm breath wash over her cheek. She weakened considerably, barely able to keep her hold on the small objects in her hand. His limpid whisper against her sensitive ear sealed her fate. "Unless you want me to make love to you right here in the tide, we should leave now."

Agathe woke to the distant clanging of bells and cries of seagulls. Immediately the events of the night prior filled her mind.

He did not know how much his words had affected her the night before. She was well aware of his feelings for her, but hearing him voice them so blatantly was, to say the least, intoxicating. And to make matters worse, they could not be together for the remainder of the night. They were too closely monitored here on the island; she by her father and Georg by his fellow officers.

Agathe did not know exactly how she felt about their situation, even after being with him for so long. Although she was fairly certain that she would have taken quite well to any advances he may have put on her, she still felt something akin to relief that they had refrained from going any further.

In a way, she feared it would have cheapened their relationship. And even further, she knew she would later regret such actions after being married.

There was a chance that Georg would be her husband someday anyway. After all, he had been more than amused when she had called him so the day before.

Did he think her worthy of a wife? She liked to think he mirrored her sentiments, but she would never fully trust anyone until they told her straight out - and unfortunately Georg had not done that.

It was the one thing about him that triggered any doubt in her. He was a man whose actions defined his feelings; a man who shied away from words. She did not mind that about him - quite the contrary, she adored it about him. But there was going to come a time when words would be needed desperately; she hoped it would not be too late for them. He was too good to lose.

She readied herself quickly but quietly so as not to wake her father, and rushed out the door of their room to find Georg.

The sun was already quite strong for being so early in the morning. She squinted as the light temporarily blinded her tired eyes as she walked out onto the dock.

Coming closer to where the ship was being loaded, she saw him standing with two other officers, dressed impeccably in his uniform, buttoned to the collar - much more professional than she had seen him the night before.

She smiled to herself and lingered by the group to get his attention. It didn't take long before he noticed her. His knowing smile in her direction must have conveyed great disrespect towards his officers, but he didn't seem to care.

He dismissed himself from the conversation and strode towards her. "Well..." He sighed remorsefully, but his expression was one of anything but regret. His smile was humored, but he seemed awkward in his stance, as though he did not know what to say. Again, they were to leave each other, so recursive was this in their relationship - but this time neither had a guess as to when they would have the chance to meet again.

"This is the... tenth time we've done this?" She asked teasingly.

"Hm, about." He agreed, with a mock air of thoughtfulness.

It felt surreal that they would be saying goodbye in just a few minutes again. The atmosphere was so pleasant and bright that it seemed to ease the disappointment somewhat. It was so unlike their last farewell. This was not going to be dramatic and full of angst. Perhaps they had matured from that level.

"Oh, I almost forgot, I have something for you," Georg said suddenly, guiding her by the arm to the side of the dock. He bent down to pick up a small bundle of cloth and held it out in front of her.

She looked up at him confusedly and he nodded his permission. She curiously unwrapped the cloth to reveal a pearly, peach conch shell.

She grinned at him with a noise something between a gasp and a giggle, "Oh, Georg, I can't believe you found one! It's beautiful! Where did you find it?"

"On the beach, just this morning. It's lucky that it was still intact - usually those larger shells get mutilated by the waves before they're brought to shore. But I did have to wake up very early to get it."

She laughed appreciatively. "Thank you," She carefully covered the shell back in its cloth. "I suppose you've given me an excuse to start my own seashell collection, now!"

He smirked. "But it won't be complete until you've found at least one hermit crab to add to it!"

He soaked in the sound of her laughter, repressing the mounting regret that he would not hear it for a long while again.

They both turned their heads at the sight of several young men in uniform racing up to the ship.

"When are you leaving?" She asked rather sadly.

"Any minute, now. The last of the cargo is just being brought onto the ship." He replied softly. He stared hard at her, his eyes fulgent and bold, like blue stained glass in the sunlight.

He looked so distressingly handsome then, in the tautness of his uniform, the appealing grey-teal color of his jacket magnifying the color of his eyes. The sun brought out the bronze highlights of his hair, and his skin looked more tanned. He needed a haircut, Agathe noticed, but she rather liked it the length it was now. She guessed they would make him cut it again when he got back on the ship.

She looked down to where he was holding his hat at his side. Absently, she reached over for it, and he let her take it almost without notice.

She studied the unfamiliar crest embroidered into it with interest. She smirked and set it onto his head, purposefully lopsided, with a giggle.

He narrowed his eyes at her and straightened it crossly.

Still unknowing of what to say, she shyly cast her eyes down and took his hand in hers. It brought her an odd fascination how he so willingly let his hand go limp in her grip. He said nothing as she turned it over, following the subtle callous of his capable hand. No matter how cold her own hands would be, his always seemed to harbor warmth.

He shifted in slight uncertainty, and her eyes rose to admire the gleaming badges that decorated his jacket. There were so many little squares of color, intriguing symbols that she didn't understand. Someday she would have him explain each one in detail to her - a pity that there was no time for it now.

"You, um..." He started to speak, and his voice cracked slightly, the tentativeness in his voice was unsettling. He cleared his throat, "You should go get your father...he doesn't want to be late."

"He's coming." She said quietly without a blink.

His lips parted as though he were about to say something, but no words escaped.

The Captain's business-like shouts could be heard from the ship as the rest of crew began boarding. Georg inhaled sharply and looked back.

She let go of his hand, and he stared almost apologetically at her.

"Don't make me regret letting you go." She warned, keeping her tears in check much better than she had the last time they parted ways.

She saw him swallow, but he still appeared speechless. Before he could walk away, she pushed herself into him, nearly knocking him over and kissed him harshly, not caring who was watching them.

_Remember what this feels like - remember it well... _She told herself over and over again as she attempted to lock the feeling in her memory. She felt her fingers catch onto the badges of his jacket as they slid down his front. Barely backing more than an inch away, she whispered pleadingly, "Come back to me." And she released him.

"I will..." Before he could mentally filter his thoughts, they became words - and he said them automatically, "I promise."

A single tear fell from her eye, but she sent him a trusting smile as he rapidly found his place to file back onto the ship. She watched as he disappeared among the identically uniformed men and let the grief wash over her without fighting it.

Her father grasped her from behind, planting a quick kiss on her forehead, and he took off after the rest, calling back to her, "I love you darling! I'll see you soon!"

She let out a half sob-half laugh as he waved to her from the deck.

Her father was always so sure that things would turn out right - nothing seemed to affect him.

Maybe she should take a leaf out of his book for once and not worry.

If they returned to her once, they would do it again.


	16. Stalled

**Chapter 16:**

** Stalled**

* * *

It was no longer a war that seemed manageable. As much as Georg hated to admit to it, most days it was simply every man for himself. He had seen men fall like flies in a spray of poison. He had seen men grow mad with the uncertainty of their fate and some of them even went so far as to determine it themselves. The tragedy of the situation forced him to step back from the picture and allow his eyes to survey the scene in what was no longer tunnel vision. He could see his life for what it truly was. A hopeless, never-ending fight for a life that could not be. He would have his honor, he would have his heroism, but he could not have the love of another.

He had told himself that it was over - he could not have Agathe now. He could wish for nothing now. He was near certain that he did not stand a chance in this war any longer. If there was some speck of light in the dank hell that he was a part of, it was too faint to find when he had all but given up searching for it.

They were in the midst of a string of unexpected battles that Georg had never experienced anything like before. They were not just on the ship anymore, but they were in physical combat every day, somehow ending up lost in the middle of abandoned islands, in uncharted areas of the sea he no longer knew like the back of his hand as he once thought. There was not even the choice for regaining his energy, there was nothing to do but fight until he fainted, or more efficiently, until he died.

The outlook was not bleak anymore. It was black.

The blast had gone off. There was not even time to hear the screams. He was running for cover in a harsh jungle with no end in sight.

This was not part of his basic training. As far as he was concerned, he wasn't even in the Navy anymore, he was just in a war - and he had to be prepared to fight by any means possible. He was not familiar with what to do in the situation of a bomb exploding on a small island, although he perhaps should have been. There were a great many things he _should _have been. But he wasn't. And it was too late now.

Tangling himself in the thick vines, he hurtled forward, sharp thorns scraping at his flesh, raindrops pelting against his body. Rain there was so heavy it had a discernable mass - it felt like cold wet pebbles being shot at him from all angles. He was being stoned to death by nature.

But no matter how far he tried to run from one means of death, he was only running closer to another. And the vines thickened, the thorns sharpened, the rain fell harder.

He heard the cries of men from the other end of the island, whether they were those of his enemies or his comrades, it did not matter...they all sounded the same here, in utter abandonment. Had he only run that short a distance that he was still within earshot of them?

The pounding heat and searing sores on the surface and within his worn body were weighing him down, but he had to return. He knew he had to go back and find those who still lived. They would not have long to live either - and neither would he.

The vines did not hinder him this time as he rushed back through the forest towards the beach. The sky was darkening but there were no celestial bodies to light his path - the smoke had blocked out the moon and the stars, and it would soon block out his lungs.

Suddenly remembering ingrained tactics, he ripped what little material was left from his shirt and covered his nose and mouth, breathing as sparsely as he could still being so out of breath from running.

The burning mechanical smell of the smoke and thick dust around him polluted his airways and made his eyes tear. Frantically he began to dig through the debris, tossing aside unidentified planks of wood, bars of metal, and the occasional rifle.

There was a sound like the distant groan of a dying man not far beneath the rubble. He quickened his pace mechanically and not seconds later, uncovered a man he dreaded to see looking all too familiar. John Whitehead.

The first thought that entered his mind was that he would be all right - he was still alive when he discovered him, after all. He saw his face, saw that his eyes were still open, and he was still attempting to speak. He was shocked, partially paralyzed maybe, but still alive and breathing nonetheless.

Not able to say anything for lack of breath in his sunken lungs, Georg hoisted the man out of the debris and dragged him along the shoreline until the air was the least bit breathable. It was not a short journey.

Georg tore the other sleeve of his shirt off and fashioned a bandage for the ghastly wound on the man's left knee. Despite being short on oxygen and petrified to all ends, it was not hard to recognize that he was losing a lot of blood...a very substantial amount, and very fast. If he did live, he would no doubt need to have it amputated.

Georg failed in stopping himself from panicking - he should have stopped sooner to wrap the open wound before dragging him away for nearly five minutes.

His heart was grinding against his ribs as he leaned over the now barely recognizable man lying in the pool of pink sand. John struggled to talk, moving his mouth, but not forming anything beyond short grunts. Georg winced with the stinging pain of his own wounds, but he would not tend to his own until he was sure that John would be all right. Georg tried to speak to the man, but he was unable to bring himself to say the words he wanted to.

He did not know how to deal with this situation. He had faced the deaths of many men before, and had even known some of them on personal terms; but they were not as close to him as John had been. He had not realized how much like family John was to him - and to make matters worse, he was Agathe's father.

Georg jumped as John's hand had somehow found its way up to clutch his shoulder - he was moving his mouth deliberately, and he guessed him ready to say something. Barely discernable the words were, but still in the basest form sensible; "Go - tell them- please find them -" He coughed dryly, loosening his grip on Georg's arm. "I loved you like a son."

Georg's heart stopped with surprise. The words were so clear, he could have sworn he'd just imagined them. Somehow John's voice seemed to have gained its strength. Maybe there was still the slightest gleam of hope for him...

He sunk back down into the sand, closing his eyes. Georg protested wordlessly, making the oddest noises he'd never imagined himself capable of making.

He pawed at John's tattered jacket, willing him to hold out just a bit longer. Just long enough for one ship out of the rest of the fleet to find them - it would not be that long since they had sent message just before they were taken down. It wouldn't be long - if only he could hang on just a little bit longer...

"John..John.." He muttered helplessly, feeling that the tears in his eyes were no longer just from the sulfuric air.

Without opening his eyes, the man spoke hoarsely to him, "Take care of them."

His head did not sink back, nor did his limbs suddenly give way; he did not weigh down in his arms as most men did when they died. It was as if he had simply fallen into a light sleep, set to be startled awake at any moment.

He did not look dead. But Georg was not in denial. He knew he had died.

There was no reaction at first. Not a thought crossed his mind as he stared down into the once lively face of his friend. But once he came to his senses, he had only one fear - and that fear outweighed all other pain, worry, hopelessness, and sorrow that had until then plagued him to the core...He would have to face Agathe.

He could not bring himself to see her after this. John was _her _father. He was _her _family. Georg felt more as if he had lost a member of his own family just a moment ago. It was hard enough for him to see John leave - how hard it would be on Agathe, on his children, on his wife.

He had told Georg to go to them. He wanted Georg to_ take care of them_.

He had, perhaps unknowingly implied that he wished Georg to remain with them forever more. It was something he had previously wanted. But now it was almost unthinkable. How would he be the one to bring the tragedy to them? He couldn't do it. Especially not to Agathe. That was not the way he wanted to greet her after they'd been apart for so long again.

Georg found himself wishing he had died in John's place. John did not deserve to die. If only he had not been on their ship - he could have been on any ship in the entire fleet, and he had to be with them.

It was so wrong. Everything was so wrong.

Georg felt he had gone from being a reckless teenager, and was suddenly catapulted into true adulthood within a matter of seconds. He had seen the deaths of many men, but none before had had such a gut-wrenching impact on him. He had been thrust into a maturity that set him well beyond his years. It was too soon to be seeing things like this.

For perhaps the first time in twelve years, Georg had felt he truly needed a higher power - he was so alone, so lost, so vulnerable, afraid. It became clear to him that he could not go through with this without God. For the longest night of his life, he prayed every second, never once closing his eyes to rest. He kept his arms around the decaying body and prayed long and hard. It was all he remembered how to do.

The first ship arrived well after morning had come, but it had come - only it was too late. Georg watched the sun rise over the crystal clear water of the sea. How long it had been since he had the time to watch the sun rise - It was the last thing he thought he would be doing when a man he had loved like a father had, just hours before, died in his arms.

The last angelic rays of sunrise streamed over the vast sea scape, sending a thousand golden sparkles skipping over the soft early waves. The sea had never looked more beautiful to his eyes. It seemed like the last living entity in his life just then. He had no idea whether he was the last one alive on that island, or if there were a hundred more men waiting to be rescued.

He was taken on board the ship by a senior officer; he noticed the way they were all looking at him. They did not expect him to have a good reaction. They did not expect him to talk, or to explain anything. They did not expect anything of him. Nothing.

They wrapped John's body and set it with the others. He was just a number now.

Georg felt more uncomfortable than he ever had on that ship, knowing John's lifeless body was just below deck. He would have to face his family, _her _family, when he returned. He never thought he would dread going back to Austria. This would hopefully be the last time he ever had to worry about returning to his home country. And it was for all the wrong reasons. He hated himself for that.

He hated himself for not being able to save John. He hated himself for not feeling a grain of guilt over it - hated himself for hating himself over the whole thing.

It was not the time to be deprecating of himself. It was the time he would have to be the bravest - but he did not have the confidence that he could pull through with it.

He felt so _weak._ He barely remembered ever feeling like that. Helpless, unprotected, vulnerable. Not things he was used to feeling. They were slowly becoming his defining characteristics during this war. What had he gotten himself into?

Now he would finally go back to Agathe, only to find her in mourning over her father's death. He would have given anything if it meant he did not have to see her in that kind of state. He never wanted to see her unhappy. He almost considered not going back at all, perhaps running away for a while, just to escape it. But he could not do that. He would not start by being a coward now, not when he had come so far. What would that do to him? He would ruin himself to the point where there would be no chance of fixing things. The situation right now seemed without solution on the outside, but he knew there was still a way to mend it. It was too late for many things, but it was never too late to turn things around.

Maybe he was fooling himself. Maybe he would be better off if he spared himself that tomorrow that was waiting for him just beyond the next sunrise. Maybe he could play the coward just for once - and escape it all before it happened.

What would _Agathe _think of him then...?

Georg felt his heart plummet. There were not many things he cared about at the particular moment, but somehow, he still found that he cared what Agathe thought. He cared of nothing else. Only what she thought of him, what she expected of him, what she felt for him...

He thought of killing _tomorrow._ He was ashamed to say that he had fantasized about ending his own life for his own sake. But Agathe, God bless her, even when she was not in his presence, had somehow convinced him that what he had wanted to do was wrong.

In a fantastically curious way, she had saved him.

Now he would have to save her.

"Are you all right, Commander?" Admiral Espart asked Georg as he stepped off the boat.

Georg looked the man squarely in the eyes. The Admiral was concerned for him. They all were. They were treating him so differently. But why? He had seen men die before. This was no different...but it was unlike any of the deaths he had seen before. Perhaps because he had been the only survivor of over six hundred men...

His hands were shaking again. He self-consciously hid them inside his jacket and nodded to his superior. "Yes, sir."

His voice was barely recognizable. He did nothing to hide his voice like he usually did, there was no deliberate deepening, no pasted pride. It was just how he was meant to sound. Like a child. Like a frightened, lost child.

He knew they did not believe him when he told them he was fine. He didn't even believe himself. Of course, he rarely believed himself on any matter. These days he had to lie to himself just to stay alive.

Georg struggled slightly to balance himself as his foot first met the solid ground, coming off the dock. It felt funny to be on land again. In an acute way, he craved imbalance. He was so used to the tossing and turning of the water beneath him - it had reflected his mind so well, and his heart.

They offered him food, water, a place to rest before going back to Vienna. He refused everything. He did not take kindly to nourishment when he thought he did not deserve it.

Then that little thought crept its way oh so slowly back into his head...what about Agathe?

Did he really want to treat himself in a way that she would disapprove of? What was he trying to accomplish anyway? He was just adding to the reasons to feel sorry for himself - and _that _was the worst thing he could have done. It would have sealed his fate as a coward. That was something he did not want. Ever.

A light rain fell on him as he waited in the train station. He could feel the cold around him, but his body seemed to emanate a bountiful heat, and he had no inkling from where it was coming. The heat repelled the cold, the wet raindrops, the gusts of wind. He was unaffected by everything now. Would it be that way forever? In a way, he liked that feeling. He felt safer than ever now that he felt he had already lost everything worth losing...well, almost everything.

The train ride seemed longer than he had remembered it being. He wanted to go home, but he also dreaded it more than anything. It was the uncertainty of what he would have to face when he got there that scared him.

The passengers of the train stared boldly at him as he walked past. He knew why they were staring. His uniform made him the most conspicuous spectacle in a crowd of people.

He absently regarded the badges of his jacket. Some time long before he had been so proud to have them - recalled the feeling of swelling pride with the new weight of another metal pin on his chest. The front of that jacket was certainly heavier now. But the weight was no longer a pleasant one - it was confining, and slightly oppressive.

Everything he had thought before was changing so drastically in such a short time. It frightened him.

The first day back in his house was the most surreal experience he had ever had.

His aunt was the first person to meet him when he arrived. She had cried for a long time, her arms holding desperately around him as though he would vanish if she lifted a finger from him. She would not let him go, but he did not fight her. He said nothing. She said nothing.

He realized for the first time how much she truly loved him. It moved him in such a deep and mysterious way that he could not even respond emotionally. He soaked it all in, and that was that.

Thoughts of the more fortunate happenings came to his mind - Arthur and Heinrich had been moved to separate ships, his uncle did not even have a position in the fleet anymore...Georg had been the only one on that ship who survived, the only one out of both the enemy ship and his own that had survived.

It terrified him to think about it.

They were all gone.

The Captain, the officers, the doctors, all of those young crewmembers, some of whom were not even sixteen yet, maybe younger...

They were all gone but him.

How close he had come to actually losing his life. He'd never thought about it as tragic before, but now that he was seeing life in a new perspective, it actually _mattered._ He actually mattered.

There was a reason he survived nearly unscathed. A reason he was here, now, alive and healthy.

But he wasn't sure he wanted to be. Now everyone treated him as though he were so fragile - as if he couldn't accept what had happened. He _had _accepted it. He had never even shed a tear in front of them - and they still thought he was bothered by it...

"It takes time to move on," his uncle told him sympathetically, "A long time."  
Georg wanted to scream at them - he did_ not_ need time. He didn't need anything or anyone. He would forget it all on his own command.

Because when he commanded, his commands were followed.

He spent a whole week locked in his room, drowning in the glorious agony of his fractured heart.


	17. Sinking

**Chapter 17:**

**Sinking **

* * *

Georg had been dreading John Whitehead's funeral since the second he saw him take his last breath - he would have to see_ her._

How would she react to seeing him now that she was obviously preoccupied with something greater and darker?

Did she even remember him? Georg began to feel actual guilt when he started thinking of her again - thinking of her in the way that he had previously refrained from thinking of her.

God damn him - he had no other thoughts, no other worries to harness himself with - he had worn out every thought that plagued his mind over the last week, and he was losing himself.

He stared at himself in the mirror, subconsciously straightening his tie over and over...no matter how many times he adjusted it, it would never be perfectly straight. And even if he did get it straight, it would fall crooked again when he moved. How pointless had his life become that this fact was enough to drive him insane?

He was not used to seeing himself dressed in all black. He was not used to seeing his own reflection at all, in fact. He did not look the way he imagined or remembered himself looking. He looked pale, depressed, older...

He was disinclined to meet his own gaze - his reflection was almost too imposing even to himself in that mirror, which still held a hair-thin crack in the top left corner - the result of a derelict temper...that mirror which had been replaced so many times, by means of venting his own anger and frustration.

No matter how many times he broke it, his aunt had replaced it just the same. She never said anything to him about it, never once questioned him. Somehow it came to her knowledge, and one day he would come into his room and find a new one in its place...

How many times had that happened? Most likely twenty or so. How had he never seen that she loved him enough to...

He slammed his fist into the desk, wishing to dent the hard, glossy wood beneath his hand.

He did not want to do this.

The day was appropriately grey...the overcast sky providing a shadowy blanket under which they could mourn properly.

He walked stiffly beside his aunt, as she avidly clutched his arm. He wondered vaguely when she would finally let go of him - _if _she ever would. She had been clinging to him the entire week, always there, following him everywhere...she practically stalked him in their own household. Every time he happened to look up, he would catch her eyes on him. He knew she was just worried over him, but it was so very tiring. The only places he had been able to escape her overbearing presence had been the bathroom or his bedroom. In every other room, she would be there, finding any excuse to touch him, or ask him a question - as if she were afraid he had died himself, and he were just a silent spirit of a tortured soul that haunted her home.

He almost stopped and turned around before they entered the house - it was going to be so different from the last time they were here - he never remembered wanting to get out of something so badly...

The doors opened. The same entrance hall - where they had kissed for the very first time...People all around him, all dressed in black, all the same... he struggled to breathe. The sound of many voices echoed in a hushed way through the dim golden room.

"Mom," He heard Heinrich say gently from beside them. Georg turned to look at his cousin - his face...it looked so young...

"Mom," He repeated in a tone that was unnaturally high, touching Monica's shoulder tentatively. "C'mon..." He said with an understanding glance toward Georg as he pried away her hold on his arm.

Georg could barely look at her face - she was stricken at the sight of the casket in the room ahead of them. If anyone would take the situation the worst, it would be her. She was so horribly sensitive.

Georg let his eyes drift insecurely through the clustered people. His gaze found that of Max Detweiler standing in the corner of the hall, with his arms crossed. He gave a nod of acknowledgment toward Georg, who solemnly mirrored the gesture. Georg noticed to his right, the beautiful blonde woman he had seen with Agathe in the jewelry store so many months ago, clutching the arm of an older man. Her mascara was slightly smudged underneath her eyes, which were glistening with tears. Seeing all these people so upset disturbed him greatly for some reason. John had been such an influential man in so many lives. It made him realize what a small world they lived in.

He let out a shaky sigh and looked up at the chandelier to distract himself - he began to count the number of crystals.

"Commander von Trapp." A voice that sounded chillingly like John's prompted him to whip around in startlement. The sad, but gentle face of a middle-aged man with graying auburn hair and glasses met his gaze. "My name is Byron Whitehead - John's brother..." He shifted awkwardly at the introduction. "I'm sorry we've never met before, but I must thank you for your efforts in attempting to save his life -" He paused. Georg felt his eyes tear up. How could he have known about it? Georg had only told his uncle about what had happened on the island...either he or the crewmembers who had discovered them would have known...

He winced painfully at the man - in a way he felt betrayed that someone had leaked the story. He had hoped to avoid as much attention on the matter as possible.

The man continued to speak weakly, "We're all thankful for what you've done - John cared for you very much, and I can see why - you are truly a good man, Commander."

_A good man..._

Every time someone said that to him, he couldn't help but cringe. Why did so many people insist that he was a good man? They didn't even know him - they had no idea...

What on earth could he say to this man? The brother of the man who now lay dead in this very home...

"I..I was honored to have known him, sir." He said numbly in reply. Byron nodded with watery eyes and smiled feebly at him. He put a hand on his shoulder briefly then left him through the crowd of people.

His heart began to pound - now that he was aware of it, he realized how many people were staring at him. Did they all know of his involvement in John's death?

It was unbearable. Just when he contemplated heading outside, he felt a hand on his lower back. "Georg... take me into the parlor, darling." His aunt said in a weepy voice. He tried to hide how unsettled he was at seeing her such a mess of tears and flightiness. He obeyed her unthinkingly, guiding her into the parlor where the body was laid out.

Dimly aware that he was entering the danger zone, he nearly backed out again, taking his aunt with him. The room was filled with the sound of solemn mumbling, black-clad bodies brushing past him with flowers and women weeping. His eyes ventured to the table in the corner of the room - there was no china tea set laid out on it tonight...

He tried to avoid eye contact with anyone, feeling all the more awkward by doing so. He was curious of Agathe's whereabouts, for he did not see her in his cautious surveillance of the room. If nervousness had a scent, that was the aroma of the room - a terrible sort of mix of cold wine, cologne, and lilies that made his stomach churn unpleasantly.

His heart began to pound as his aunt pulled him in the direction of the casket. Good Lord, was she really going to make him do this? His peripheral gaze caught the ashen face of the man who lay above the white fabric. A chill ran up his spine and his vision turned foggy. His lungs felt cold and sunken in; it was a chore even to take the smallest breath.

He could no longer ignore the sounds of his aunt crying, and so he pulled her against him and attempted to muffle her whimpers against his chest.

He should never have let her come in here - she was in no position to view the body of a dead man. She was far too high-strung.

Georg felt her stuff her handkerchief into his pants pocket and attempt to pull herself upright.

The tiniest wave of relief washed over him as his uncle appeared, clearly searching for her. He spotted Georg and worked his way through the people to them. "I told her not to come in here." He said, with a slightly accusatory tone as he led Monica away from the crowd.

Georg was too preoccupied to defend himself. His eyes had locked themselves on the young woman's figure just a few feet away from where he stood.

There were at least six women surrounding her, all attempting to console her; it was difficult to get a glimpse of her for more than a second at a time. But he could easily see that she was beautiful even in her distress. Her severe, lacy black dress made her look ghostly pale in the dim lights. But she was still the most stunning woman he had ever laid eyes on. He felt slightly dizzy.

He wanted to speak with her - but at the same time, he was afraid for her to even see him. He needed a place to gather his thoughts; he needed a place to breathe, for God's sake.

Curtly pushing through the crowd, he strode through the hall and headed towards the library in the back of the house. He guessed no one would be there - but he was wrong. He opened the door, and there sat three gentlemen around the fireplace, talking. He did not recognize any of them, but he noticed that one of the men held against him the sleeping form of Agathe's younger brother.

It was too late to go back into the hall now, he supposed, so he gave a weak nod of acknowledgment and softly closed the door behind him. He walked toward the back of the room, so as not to intrude.

They regarded the new occupant briefly, but didn't seem to mind, and continued on with their conversation.

Georg feigned an interest in looking over the array of books that lined the shelves. He heard the distinct sound of footsteps as one of the men rose from his seat and walked over to where Georg stood.

He politely looked up at the elderly man beside him. The stranger held out his hand and Georg hesitantly took it. "Dr. Benedict Whitmarken." The man said in a hoarse voice.

Georg introduced himself, finding that his own voice was very strained.

"I understand that you were close with John in the Navy." He said conversationally.

Georg did not want to talk about this now. "Yes, I knew him for a few years." He confirmed nonchalantly, resuming his interest in the bookshelves.

"Then you were familiar with his involvement in Fiume with the engineering of U-boats?" He more stated than questioned.

"Yes, I am familiar with it." He answered rigidly.

The man cleared his throat before continuing. "John mentioned to me once that he thought of hiring you to aid in his research."

Georg's heart sunk. Did John really believe him to be that smart? He almost could have laughed.

"I wouldn't have been much of an aid, believe me." He said humbly and moved to the next shelf, wanting to end the conversation.

"Well, he believed you could have done just about anything - he always spoke so greatly of you."

Georg had the sudden fear that he would start to cry at the revelation. He didn't deserve such praise among his seniors.

"His daughter does as well." The man added innocently. Georg stiffened.

"Some would argue that John was... too involved in his work." He continued amusedly. Georg couldn't help but smile slightly. "The Navy may not have been his place, but he would hear nothing of it." He paused. "He always said that the Navy needed more men like you."

Georg felt himself beaming now. He was starting to feel the slightest smidgen of light fill his distressed soul.

Perhaps this death was something he _could_ deal with - after all, this man seemed to be taking it well enough...

"But alas, when a man's time comes, a man's time comes." Dr. Whitmarken said with a sigh. It wasn't a mournful sigh, but one of acquiescence.

"Can I get you a brandy, Herr von Trapp?" He asked politely, walking back to the fireplace.

Georg considered the offer for a moment, but he didn't think this was the best night for him to drink.

"No, thank you." He said softly and exited the room swiftly to make his way back to the hall. With a renewed amount of energy, he felt the urgent need to see Agathe.

Agathe wiped her eyes for what had to be the hundredth time that night. She was beyond devastated and nothing could bring her solace.

Her mother's friends had been swarming her all day, thinking they were making her struggle easier. She could have laughed bitterly at them all if she were not so upset.

Her heart was torn, and the mindless fussing of these women could do anything but ease the pain.

After the initial shock of the news had hit her, she wore herself out with tears. But then her uncle had told her the story of how a young man had supposedly survived the shipwreck and it was rumored that he had tried to save her father's life.

She knew in an instant that it had been Georg. Her grief was mellowed considerably by the fact that he was still alive. But her father was dead, and nothing could change that now.

She wanted desperately to see Georg. She had seen all of his family that night, except for him, and she feared that he was avoiding her for some reason. Although she couldn't very well see anyone when she was circled by a pack of pecking gulls.

All she could do was wait until the people thinned out. They paid their respects, offered their condolences, socialized if they felt the need to, and were on their way. It was a simple process...so why did it take so long?

Funerals were dreadful even when you didn't know the person who died. She had always despised having to go to them and to see the body and the grieving families. And now that she was in that place, she felt even more awful. She had never imagined this could happen to her - it was the last thing she expected, even though she knew her father was risking his life nearly every day at sea. But no one had ever had a second thought when it came to her father; he had been so joyous, so spirited that it seemed nothing could destroy him. But they had been proven wrong.

It was perhaps around nine o'clock when she finally freed herself, which was not easily done without being noticed. So many people still lingered in the hall, just talking. She stayed near the door to the parlor, searching for Georg. Her heart leapt to her throat when she finally spotted him at the foot of the stairs with his aunt, who appeared to be crying into his shoulder. She swallowed, having second thoughts about going up to him now. She backed away into the parlor and peeked out of the threshold from a safe distance - he looked much older than last she saw him...How long had it been anyway, since they were at Gateshead? Nearly five months, she supposed. Was it possible that he could have matured that much over just several months? He looked so serious, even angry. She imagined he felt that way rightly being the only person who saw him die...

She shivered and felt her eyes grow cloudy again.

Vaguely, she overheard two women in front of her talking in hushed voices. "They're saying that's the young man who almost saved John's life."

"Oh, Lord have mercy!"

"Yes, he's terribly handsome isn't he?"

"How long is Odelle going to wait before throwing her daughter into a marriage when she has men like _that _around?"

"Oh, but don't you assume that her husband's death would be the perfect catalyst for that?"

Agathe could scarcely believe her ears.

"Mark my words, in a month's time, they'll be engaged."

Her eyes filled with tears and she sunk behind the parlor wall out of view from the hallway.

It was her father's funeral and these women were just going to stand around and talk about Georg like that?

They were going to speculate about their _marriage, _even?

Whose business was it who she married? She was certainly not going to allow her mother to "throw her into a marriage" with just any man who happened to be attractive.

It made her not want to marry him at all - just a week before, she was dreaming of it every night, and now she doubted her reasons for wanting him at all.

_Would_ she feel as much for him if he wasn't so handsome? She thought she would...especially now that he had tried to save her father's life. He obviously held genuine care for her family, and that was proof that he cared genuinely for _her._

Could it be that was all just an illusion to her as well? It would have been so much easier with some confirmation.. He had never told her that he loved her - but of course, neither had she...

She knew it wasn't his fault, but she couldn't help being slightly angry at Georg for being such an easy target for women's gossip. Why did they have to talk about them that way? Engaged in a month's time - hah! Just after her father passed away? _Not likely. _

She suddenly felt so trapped. She did not want to go out and see those people, but she didn't want to stay in the empty room with her father's corpse either...She tearfully crawled to the window and sighed repulsively as she threw open the glass panes and hoisted herself out, tearing the skirts of her dress as she did so.

She sobbed harshly as she ran across the back lawn under the hollow moonlight, not stopping until she reached the fence of the neighbor's property. There were no horses outside tonight. Everything beautiful was absent.

She tried to regain her breath, but her sobs disallowed it to catch up with her. She clutched at the wooden fence, carelessly splintering her hands, but the pain was nothing next to her aching heart.

Why did everything feel so hopeless? She thought she would be able to accept her father dying...for an hour or two she thought she had - but it was too soon. Merely ignoring the fact that he was dead, or worse, pretending it never happened, and he was just away with the ship again..._that _was not accepting it. But what else could she do?

She couldn't think straight - and when she couldn't think straight, she told herself not to think at all. But that was no use either.

Every time her mind went blank, she wanted Georg again. She wished he were with her now - but something reminded her that she wasn't supposed to want him...

Why had she felt so mad at Georg before? She couldn't even remember. Something dealing with gossiping women?

Oh yes...that. She leaned back against the fence and sighed heavily, trying to calm herself. He couldn't help it that he was handsome...Her stomach fluttered. _He couldn't help it_.

The tears came all over again - but now they were silent. She had wasted all her energy on sobbing uncontrollably through the entire evening. There was no voice left inside of her, it seemed.

Her ears barely heard the footsteps in the grass behind her.

She didn't need to hear his approach - she knew his presence even when no sound or vision accompanied it. With a breathless whimper of submission, she fell back against his body as he wrapped her in his arms.

She had let herself forget yet again how wonderful being in his arms felt. That way only _he _held her - so protectively, almost avariciously.

She had forgotten the way he made her forget all the indecencies of her life - just by that divine wave of feelings...his chest rising and falling behind her back, the reverberation of his heartbeat inside of her, the warmth of his body encapsulating her completely.

He leaned over her to gently kiss the pulse point on the underside of her throat. Oh, heavens, she _had_ forgotten...

Her tears seemed to evaporate under his attention. She wanted nothing more than just to stay this way - if he would only hold her forever...

He pressed his body shamelessly against hers - they were so close now, far too close. She could feel him everywhere - all of him.

"Georg..." She attempted brokenly, bringing her hand up to feel his smooth jaw. She wanted to touch him so terribly.

"Don't speak." He hushed her in a voice that was barely recognizable - the intensity of his timbre was something foreign to her, or maybe she had just forgotten again how deep it was...

He turned her around in his arms so that she was facing him and seized her lips. Her heart jolted with the familiar taste of him; so hot and sweet.

Utterly lost she was, in the blissful rapture of his kiss, the strange combination of his torrid body heat with the venomous chill of the night making her feel feverish.

Her eyes were damp when he broke apart to look down at her. She gazed up at him and spoke in a weak voice, "It _was_ you...you went back to save his life..."

She didn't know why she needed his confirmation, she knew he was the one. She just had to take it all in at once.

He responded tensely, "I tried."

The tears rolling down her cheeks made thin tracks that glistened in the moonlight. Her small hand came up to adoringly caress the firm angle of his face.

She could have told him that she loved him. She should have said it right then. But she was silent. She couldn't bring herself to say it - she was afraid of how he would react.

Words were not enough to thank him as it were. She buried her face against his shoulder and sobbed helplessly all over again.

His arms held her tenaciously as he set his chin above her head and let her cry into him.

She didn't know how long they stayed there, how long she bawled her eyes out. Eventually her tears would leave her dry, as they had before. By some cruel hour she would cease to recognize her emotion.

She could have fallen asleep against him; she was far warmer in his embrace than she had even been inside the house. Her eyes were so swollen and burning she could barely open them.

"Let me take you back inside." The gentle vibration of his voice against her face roused her from the same dark, empty thoughts.

Her first reaction was to refuse his offer - she wanted to stay alone with him. She didn't want to have to see all of those people who would only remind her of the tragedy. She did not want their blessings. She didn't need them telling her that they knew how she felt, that it would all get better in time - she didn't want to hear it.

"We'll go through the back - no one has to see us." He added quietly, trying to pry her apart from him enough to look at her face.

She nodded wordlessly, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

He took her back to the house, and opened the back door quietly. She followed him up the back stairwell to the upstairs hall, where the voices of those downstairs grew muffled. She opened the door to her bedroom and he lingered behind the threshold unsurely. His eyes stayed hard on hers, as though he thought it improper to look at the contents of the room.

Blindly, she reached for his wrist and tugged him slowly inside. His heart accelerated at the sound of the door closing with a faint click behind him.

The sweet scent he associated so strongly with her was magnified intensely in the room. He felt slightly lightheaded.

Not knowing what to do, he placed his hand on the small of her back and guided her to the bed. Her sullen expression did not change as she sat herself on the end of the mattress. She looked down, frowning, at her feet.

He could think of nothing to say to her. Noticing her eyes were still moist, he extrated his aunt's handkerchief from his pocket and knelt down on bent knee before her to brush the tears from the corners of her eyes.

"It must have been so horrible for you..." She said suddenly, her voice barely audible. She still did not move her downcast eyes.

The rushing horrific images fled through his mind: the blood leaking from his wounds, the pallor of his dying face, the sunken look in his dull eyes as he told him -

He threw the thoughts aside, tossed them into that vault in his brain with all the others and locked it tight. They were not to be remembered.

He let out a heavy breath. "It's war...It happens." He replaced the cloth into his pocket but remained kneeling on one leg in front of her. He felt he would be too uncomfortable with sitting beside her on her bed.

She said nothing for a while. He knew she was replaying his words in her head - and he knew she hated them. Perhaps she even hated him a little for saying them.

Agathe was unsettled by his admission - she used to be impressed by his devotion to the military - but now she thought it possible that he could simply be crazy.

Did he really want to go back to war after all that had happened to him? After he had seen her own father die? Was that not going to change his mind?

He looked up at her from his genuflection, his eyes guileless and gleaming an innocent pale blue under the shadowy grey light from the window. He looked so young, so very young... his eyes were so pleading...

She furrowed her brow in pain, willing herself not to cry again. Unable to supress the urge to touch him, she reached down to press her hand against his cheek. His eyes fluttered closed at the contact and he leaned slightly into her palm. His simple reaction evoked a forbidden excitement in her heart and the familiar sensation of thousands of tiny blossoms bursting inside her core.

"Please don't go out there again." She whispered desperately. She couldn't stand the thought of Georg suffering the same fate as her beloved father.

His eyes snapped open. Their color that she previously read as innocent blue was now frigid as ice. He did not look young and vulnerable - his face was hard and his gaze was linear.

"I will not let one incident turn me away from this war." His reply was so deep she could barely understand his words.

Her lower lip dropped slightly in disbelief. Suddenly his face felt too cold to keep her hand against.

"What...?" The word was not a question, it was hardly a word...it was just a half-formed breath. She searched his eyes for the compassion she knew they held, but he had hidden it - he was so good at hiding it.

He stood from his humble grovel and stared down at her from his looming height. "I'm not going to slink away like some coward just because a man dies in my arms." It was so unsettling how he made words spoken so softly sound so ruthless.

She shook her head frantically; his tone frightened her so terribly. "Georg, that does not make you a coward -" She stood up and hesitantly placed her hand on his shoulder. "It takes time..." She tried to explain, but he would not allow her.

He shrugged her hand off of him and all but spat, "I don't need time," He tilted his head up as though he were regarding a superior officer. "I've already recovered." He seethed, his words dripping with a quiet venom.

His heart nearly split when he saw the hurt in her eyes, and she recoiled from his words. He hadn't meant for his pride to take him so far. He was still so sensitive about it all. She was not trying to make him a coward, she only wanted to protect him.

But couldn't he do that himself? Didn't she trust him to take care of his own life?

"You have then, have you?" She asked caustically, angered by his ignorance.

"Yes." He said darkly, not daring to move a muscle, else he might lose control of his temper.

"How impressive." She mocked scathingly, but the look of her puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks betrayed the acidity of her tone. "The events of the past week have obviously had no affect on you. _And how could they?_ That Naval Academy certainly did a number on you. You're practically a machine - you must have no feelings."

He bit back defensively, "Oh, I do have feelings, Fraulein. I have merely learned to _suppress _my feelings, but I do have them..oh yes, I do have feelings." He gripped the bedpost in fruitless catharsis - he looked around the room for something to break. The mirror, perhaps - the perfume bottles - that necklace...

Agathe clutched her suddenly uneasy stomach. She watched Georg's bitter confession with a guilty pang of regret. She knew he was indeed affected by the traumatic experience of having her father die before him - why couldn't she have stopped to think before she let her tongue run away with her?

He had been the answer to her prayers not minutes before, and now he stood with her in her dark bedroom, telling her he had feelings, and there was such passion in his voice... Standing there, brokenly, that pained look in his eyes, his breaths hoarse and heavy - he was heart-breakingly attractive.

"I have accepted what has happened, as I am expected to do." He said, pacing his words carefully. She could tell he was trying to calm himself.

"I don't believe you." She countered softly - she had intended for her tone to be one of gentle disagreement, not one of knowing accusation. But he had read her the wrong way.

His mouth formed a firm line as he stared at her vehemently. He pushed himself away from the bed, and tore open the door to the hallway. He looked back at her from the doorframe, his voice gelid, "Believe it. By the end of the month, I _will _be back on that ship."

He did not slam the door as she expected him to. He simply closed it unceremoniously with the same subtle click as he had when he entered the room. It was amazing how they had just argued so heatedly, conducting the entire exchange in composedly hushed volumes.

She stood still in her place, trying to take in what had just happened. She still could not believe that she had brought him to her room with the searing desire to become the object of his compressed passions, and just before he left, he had stared at her as though he wanted to tear her apart with his teeth like a wild animal.

She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs. She wanted to slit her own throat for thinking he could have ever cared for her - when he clearly lacked the capacity to love anyone enough to have a proper emotional response to death.

Perhaps Hattie had been right about soldiers. They were taught not to love - they were trained to forget their feelings. She would never be able to make a relationship work with a man like that, no matter how dearly she loved him.

And she did love Georg. It was too late to deny herself that fact. She had seen that he was a good man, with good intentions, and a moral nature. Her father was the most affluent judge of character that she knew - and he had trusted Georg with his life.

She truly believed that her father would have wanted them to be together - she believed he would have wanted her to be Georg's wife one day, had she been willing.

She was still willing - she was more than willing. She would do anything for her father now. She would have done anything for Georg.

Did he not see how much she cared about him? He was terribly independent. He had shown her how self-reliant he was just by his subtle interactions with his family and those around him. He rarely allowed himself to depend on anyone - he did not deal out his cards of trust easily - she was certain of that. But she had been so sure that she was his only insider. He had done so much for her that he had never needed to do. Didn't that mean he loved her?

Why did he never say it?

Why did _she _never say it?


	18. The Perils of Pearls

**Chapter 18:**

**The Perils of Pearls**

* * *

Georg spent the next two weeks cursing his pride for ruining his relationship with Agathe. He was so sure that she would never speak to him again. He had unknowingly at the time insulted both her and her father. He was not in his right mind then...couldn't she see that? Was she prepared to forgive him for his behavior?

He never thought they would encounter anything like this. They had been so perfect with each other that it seemed impossible that one of them was even capable of starting a fight.

And he had started it.

He could have hung himself. He was in misery all over again and it was all his fault.

Following John's burial, word of Georg's involvement in the incident had spread considerably - he guessed to all corners of the country. There was talk of it at every burial of every one of his comrades that he had attended. The officers of his fleet had wanted to reward Georg for his survival and for his courage in returning to save his comrade. He had refused. They could give him a badge for being the only surviving officer of a defeated ship, but he would not let them reward him for trying to save a man - and failing.

He had promised to return full duty to the Navy, at the end of the month. By then, he promised himself he will have forgotten everything. It would be normal again. As it was before he died.

Odelle had asked Georg's family to come and stay at their home for the remainder of the month. Georg had told his aunt and uncle that he would not go. They assumed his reluctance to be related to John's death. He let them think it.

He had almost gotten away with it. But his aunt had begged him mercilessly to come with them. He was finding it harder to refuse that woman of late. She was getting under his skin about everything, lurking after him through the house again, as if hunting her prey. He had been looking forward to having the house to himself while they were away. But they wouldn't let him stay behind now. Agathe would want to see him before he left with the Navy again.

Agathe would want to see him...

He could have laughed in their faces. They had no idea what had happened between them. But he was not about to tell them. So he had no choice but to act as though nothing was wrong.

The house did not smell of funeral lilies this time, Georg was glad to notice. But a lot had apparently happened in two weeks, as he was about to find out.

Where was Agathe? His aunt had asked the question for him.

Agathe was with a young man named Reinhart. He had taken her to the horse races.

_What?_

Georg did a double take at Odelle's explanation.

So she wasn't going to forgive him...she was going to move on to another man. Georg assumed this Reinhart was courting her.

He wasn't prepared for how upset the news had made him. Why hadn't he stayed home?

It appeared there were quite a few people staying over, not only his family.

_What was this, a bed and breakfast?_

Georg sighed as he dropped his luggage in his room and rushed to go outside. He couldn't believe he was staying here again - he must be out of his mind. Agathe obviously didn't need him in her life anymore - what business did he have on her property when he wasn't wanted? He couldn't wait to get back on that ship.

He passed through the parlor to exit through the open French doors, noticing a handful of young ladies about Agathe's age conversing around the coffee table. They regarded him with surprised expressions.

He thought briefly of what Agathe would think if he took one of _her _little friends with _him_ to the horse races. He could have easily made a move on any one of them- they were just sitting there like wet ducklings, staring adoringly at him.

He burst out of the doors into the fresh autumn air. The sound of the multi-colored leaves crushing beneath his shoes was strangely comforting to him. He found his way to the tree that appeared to be the culprit for the mess of leaves and sat down in the grass, leaning against the base of the trunk, and discarded his jacket.

The air was cool during the morning, but the sun provided a strangely opaque heat. He secretly wished that it had been more cloudy. The sun could be so depressing.

_What now?_

He decided not to think about anything. All he had to do was get through the week and before he knew it he would be out on the sea again. None of this would matter then. He would fight recklessly. He would elevate himself in the ranks. He would come back with so many medals and honors, and they would worship him. They would be ashamed that they ever tried to tell him to quit.

He smirked to himself and ran his hand through his hair - It had been a while since he had it cut.

He absently reached for his jacket and pulled out the peacock feather that Felix had given him at Gateshead. He twirled it idly between his fingers, admiring the rich, shimmering sapphire color of it in the afternoon sunlight. Entertaining himself like a bored schoolboy, he traced the line of his jaw with the end of the feather repeatedly, noting how each time felt smoother than the last.

Something brushed lightly against his leg, startling him. The unsettling lemon colored eyes of Agathe's cat stared at him from beside his ankle. He smiled at the creature, knowing full well that she could not understand his gesture.

Oh, what was her name? Something really thoughtless and childish...Tata. That was it.

"Tata." He clucked his tongue, mimicking the way he remembered Agathe calling her, "Come here, Tata."

Remarkably, she padded over to him and paused beside the spot where his arm lay. She locked gazes with him as though gauging his trustworthiness, then neatly placed her paws on his midriff.

He chuckled as the action tickled him, and she backed away falteringly.

He put his hand out for her reassuringly, and she promptly set her paw on his palm. He laughed.

He couldn't get over how much he had grown to love that cat after he had hated her so passionately on his first few days there. She swatted at the feather as he taunted her with it; he was amused with how tenacious she was. Eventually he let her take it from him, and she curled up in the grass with the fluffy plume. She purred as he took her into his lap and stroked her fur generously.

At least _someone_ still appreciated him around here.

He looked up as he heard the distant chatter of young women coming out of the house to sit outside on the veranda. Of the four of them, two looked back to regard him where he sat some safe distance away from earshot. He didn't care if they noticed him. He knew they had. They were talking about him.

Did Agathe tell them that he was the man who had broken her heart and left her for the military? Perhaps she had.

A girl with caramel colored hair and a painfully bright pinkish-orange dress stood at the railing, staring blatantly at him from across the lawn. She simpered and casually tossed her hair back.

He rolled his eyes.

The cat jumped suddenly from his lap and pounced after a grasshopper that had skipped past. He tried to grab her tail before she could run but he missed narrowly and hissed in frustration. "Gah!"

He threw his head back against the tree, languishing with a sigh.

His mood did not get any better as he noticed Heinrich swaggering towards him from the other side of the lawn, carrying what looked to be a drawing pad and a pencil.

"What's going on?" Heinrich asked as he stood with his back against the tree.

"Not now, I'm brooding."

"Oh-ho, I beg your _pardon_, Commander." He did not leave. "What the hell are you doing out here anyway?"

Georg brushed the grass from his knees and crossed his arms defensively over his chest. "Nothing, I'm just...thinking."

"Here." Heinrich said as he tossed the drawing pad into his lap. "So you won't be bored." He explained pointedly.

Georg scoffed and flipped through the pages, finding all of them blank.

"Where did you get this?" He asked curiously. Drawing was not one of Heinrich's hobbies.

"I found it in the study." He replied as though it were obvious.

Georg took the pencil from out of the binding and began to sketch Agathe's cat as he watched it move playfully through the grass.

He was so absorbed in the drawing that he forgot Heinrich watching from behind him.

"Whoa, I didn't know you could draw." He said, sounding impressed.

Georg ceased his scribbling. "I can't...I was just messing around."

He tossed the pencil into the grass and stared at the resulting sketch with a critical eye. It was surprisingly realistic. He had never really attempted to draw anything more than blueprints before. He was good at architectural things, but he never thought of drawing things from nature.

"Who are they?" Heinrich asked suddenly, his interest predictably taken with the four girls on the patio.

"I don't know...Agathe's friends?"

Georg watched the arm of his cousin's shadow on the grass come up to straighten his hair. He gave a derisive snort.

His eyes shot up to the branch above him as he heard the distinctive sound of starling's chirp. Distractedly, he pulled the sketchpad into his lap and began to trace an outline of the bird on the paper. He was mildly fascinated by the way its tiny head jerked back and forth, by the flecks of green and blue and gold in its shiny black coat of feathers...

He found himself longing to be that bird...then maybe he could fly away from this madness.

Finished with the rough sketch, he flipped to a new page, and his gaze settled where a girl with braided sunny blonde hair stood, powdering her face.

He smirked and tipped the pad up so that it was hidden from Heinrich's eyes, enthusiastically smearing the graphite across the blank paper.

Georg held up the sketchpad and Heinrich took it from him, comparing the drawing to the growing cluster of people on the patio.

Quickly, he identified the match and pointed to the large bellied woman with the cherry red dress.

"Red Giant," He said with a snicker, and placed the sketchpad back in Georg's hands.

Georg let out an unrestrained guffaw, causing a few women on the terrace to look back, slightly affronted.

"Do another one." Heinrich ordered eagerly.

Georg scoffed as his eyes browsed through the people. "I think I've drawn all of them by now."

Heinrich sighed and reached for the jacket in the grass. "Well, I'm gonna go eat, then." He jogged back to the house.

Georg tapped his temple with the tip of the pencil. His heart sunk as he became aware of one person he had not attempted to draw.

Her braided dark hair formed a fawn colored crown around her head in the brilliant sun. Interestingly enough, she appeared uncharacteristically bored. His eyes fell to her neck, to the place which was once adorned by his opal necklace, now circled with a choker of shiny pearls.

He felt the weight of gloriously concupiscent jealousy deep in the pit of his stomach.

The bodice of her daffodil yellow dress looked sickly tight to his eyes; he never recalled her wearing a dress that was quite so...exposed at the bust before. Had she done it on purpose to torture him?

He threw his head back against the trunk of the tree with a wince of irony.

Through his lidded eyes, he continued to stare at her irresistibly. It seemed a shame not to at least try to copy such a lovely face down. After all, he may never see her again after this month...

He poised the pencil pendulously over the page...touched the tip to the paper...scratched a light contour of her face...

"Georg! Darling, why are you being so anti-social?" His aunt shouted at him from the terrace. _Oh, she wasn't..._"Come up here now, stop moping out there!"

Whatever happened to treating him like a fragile child?

He blushed slightly and reached for his jacket reluctantly, but his hand met nothing but the cool patch of grass.

He jerked his head to look for it on his other side. Nothing.

With a groan of realization, he remembered Heinrich stealing it just before he went back inside.

Grudgingly, he rose to his feet and brushed off his clothes. Hopefully his aunt would not castigate him for approaching a group of women with such informal attire.

He tried to make the sketchpad look inconspicuous, holding it snugly against his side as he hopped up the three steps to the terrace. He rapidly counted thirteen people - all of whom happened to be women, ranging from at least twelve to eighty. Except for one other man.

Another_ young_ man. Standing to Agathe's side.

He hoped to get a better look at him, but he was inconveniently interrupted.

"Georg.." His aunt bustled up to him, yanking the elbow of his sleeve. "Where is your jacket?" She hissed spastically.

He glanced distractedly at the man beside Agathe, still unable to get a glimpse of his face - of course _he_ was wearing a jacket.

Looking back at his aunt, he struggled not to laugh - she was so much shorter than him, it was impossible for her to make herself intimidating. And she tried so hard...

"Heinrich took it." He responded smoothly. She pursed her lips and turned on her heel to head back into the house. No doubt, Heinrich would be getting something special from her.

He smothered his grin at the thought.

Feeling oddly out of place, he searched for something worthy of his distraction...something to save him from the cloying stares of these women...

He breathed a sharp intake of breath at the feel of something tugging the back of his pants.

"Excuse me... Can you tie my shoelaces, please?" The pleading green eyes of Agathe's freckle-faced little brother peered up at him. The boy's voice was so soft, he barely heard him - only his shy gesture towards his foot reaffirmed Georg of his request.

"Oh..of course." He stuttered slightly, kneeling down to tie the strings. His hands worked of their own accord as he covertly looked up from his ministrations to get a proper look at the young man clutching Agathe's arm.

Even squinting in the sun, his face was annoyingly bright; a head of glossy honey colored hair, a dimpled cleft in his too-wide chin, an overconfident grin of plaster-white teeth that practically blinded Georg from a considerable distance. What the hell did she see in that sap?

"That should do - thank you, sir." The timid mumble of the little boy interjected his ungracious critique. His foot tentatively pulled away from him. Georg realized with some regret that he'd been rather rough with the laces as he was lost in his thoughts. He stood up swiftly, and the boy ran back into the yard. Georg felt an urge to run after the boy, eager for any excuse to leave this awful situation.

Before he could turn around, he felt his aunt's hand snatch at his sleeve and pull him into the house. She was not shy about re-tucking the back of his shirt in, either.

"Aghh!" He startled defensively as she forcefully straightened his belt from behind. His hands flailed in front of hers protectively as she threatened to tuck the front side in as well.

"_I'll _get it." He accentuated pointedly, swatting her hand away.

"Put this on, now." She fussed over slinging an unfamiliar grey jacket across his shoulders. "I'll not have my nephew making an exhibition of himself in front of all these upstanding women."

She scoffed as she stood on her toes to obsessively flatten his hair. "You look ridiculous..."

_Still not as ridiculous as Sir Sunshine..._

He accidentally laughed out loud.

"What has gotten into you?" She hissed with an irritable slap at his side.

Georg was hard-pressed to answer that question himself.

"You can be so insufferable sometimes!" She said in exasperation, shaking her head as she pushed him back out the door.

Oh why, why did he have to be here?

The heat of the sun was almost unbearable - he felt himself begin to sweat slightly under the jacket.

His stomach lurched not too unpleasantly as he caught Agathe's iridescent gaze fixed on him for a fleeting second. Her eyebrows quickly narrowed and she adjusted her arm within her cavalier's.

He groaned inwardly and looked for a means of escape - until his aunt dug her claws into him again.

"Georg, dear, come with me." She dragged him toward the pair until he was face to face with Agathe. He cursed his eyes for instantly diving to the bust-line of her dress.

"I don't believe you've met yet. This is Reinhart von Hendelberg. His father was a close friend of John's."

_What a surprise._

"Reinhart, this is my nephew, Georg." Georg did not even bother to force a smile after her introduction.

Reinhart, however, grinned heartily and promptly shook his hand. "I hear you were quite close with the late Herr Whitehead...and your Aunt tells me you are a Commander in the Navy - I'm most impressed." His voice was too forceful, too polite. It had a very slight lisp that was most odd if he listened hard enough - Georg presumed it was from having such hefty teeth. He smirked wryly.

What importance was it to him if this goon was impressed with his title? He was obviously just some spoiled, pig-headed wimp who would most likely founder with a case of shell shock upon hearing a single gunshot.

"Hm." Georg responded with a dismissive sneer.

Agathe pointedly began to talk before he could say anything more, although he had not been planning on it anyway. "We've just come back from the races - Reinhart just recently invested in a horse of his own, which incidentally came in fourth place today."

"Oh, congratulations!" Monica practically shrieked. Georg rolled his eyes, not caring who bore witness to the tell-tale gesture.

"Thank you, Madam." Reinhart said, beaming amusedly at her.

So his horse got fourth place? What was that in a race of around twenty horses? He did the math in his head - fourth out of twenty...That left sixteen behind, which was sixteen out of twenty...so his horse had done better than eighty percent of the horses in the race...

Eighty percent.

Not that big of a deal.

He met Agathe's eyes, accidentally finding her staring at him with a pursed look of determination on her exquisite face. What the hell could she be thinking?

There was an awkward pause.

"Well, you all should come some day! Perhaps we'll get even luckier next time." Reinhart hastily added with what Georg judged to be false enthusiasm.

Go to see his stupid horse in some third rate race? He'd rather walk the plank.

"Oh, that would be lovely! Albrecht just adores the races - we haven't been able to go for ages!" His aunt could always be trusted to butter up the worst situations.

"Well, splendid!" Reinhart said with suffocating energy. "I look forward to it! You'll come as well, Georg, won't you?"

_Fat chance._

"I wouldn't miss it." Georg answered with a perfectly spurious smile.

Agathe glared at him. She could see right through him - she knew him too well.

He didn't care - he kept reminding himself how sweet it would be when he was back on the sea again. None of this would be of any significance then. He couldn't wait to reacquaint his tongue with the taste of victory.

"Well, Agathe and I were just about to take a walk - if you'll be so kind as to excuse us..." Reinhart said with exaggerated politeness to Monica.

She smiled at him understandingly, "But of course, it _is_ such a lovely day."

Reinhart's glowing grin widened as he passed them, tucking Agathe's hand neatly in the crook of his elbow.

Georg entertained a short-lived fantasy of punching the smile from his face.

"Georg." Agathe regarded him with his name as she brushed past, a perfectly aloof expression masking her spirited features.

He recalled not so long ago how she had uttered his name with a coursing rasp of passion. That tone was to be used no more.

Was it possible she was trying to get even with him for acting like such a brute before?

She did not seem genuinely interested in this fellow, if he was so inclined to believe it.

Maybe that was just wishful thinking.

He watched them walk arm in arm across the lawn as he had done with her so many times during that memorable summer.

It positively tore his heart as he saw her giggle whimsically and touch the string of pearls around her neck - it had obviously been a gift from him.

Oh, if she wanted pearls, Georg would give her pearls.

He would clean out every jeweler in the country until she had every pearl necklace that he could afford. Then when there were no more left in the country, he would travel all over Europe, then all across the upper hemisphere, then the rest of the globe, bargaining with every last vendor on the street for each pearl they could offer. Once there were no more to be found, he would dive to the bottom of the ocean and collect every oyster that was buried in the brine, and he would shower her with pearls.

If she wanted pearls...

His eyes followed her movements as they had when he first saw her - the fascination building inside of him, the captivation, the mystery.

Now that she was no longer his, he realized just how intensely he had coveted her.

Their relationship had been like ivy, fertile and frondent - and it had wilted as rapidly as it had germinated. So sure he had been that she would always follow him everywhere he went.

How could she have changed so suddenly? There was nothing so severe in their fateful exchange that would possibly tear them apart so quickly.

He scarcely remembered whatever words had offended her so deeply. He would have taken them back - no matter how wounded his ego was by the apology - he would give it to her, as lavish as any apology she could ask for. He would kneel before her, he would kiss her feet, he would grovel for days if it pleased her.

A spasm of lost control filtered through his muscles as they were out of his sight. He narrowed his eyes and leaned against the wall with his arms across his chest.

The harsh liquorice aroma of absinthe inflamed his nostrils as his uncle walked from the house, holding an open bottle. How glorious of a mess he would make of everything if he allowed himself some of the alcohol. Then he would seal his fate as being out of Agathe's life forever.

He watched with regret as his uncle poured himself a glass of the cloudy liquid, and lifted the tongs from the ice bucket. A single ice cube slipped to the ground, and no one seemed to notice. Georg stared intently at the cube of ice, suddenly realizing how thirsty he was. Soon it would melt in the heat of the sun; soon it would be nothing but a tiny puddle of water...then it would evaporate. Was he going to stand there and watch it disappear when he was so thirsty? But he could not reach down and pick it up. He could not put it in his mouth now that it had touched the ground. It belonged to the ground. It was soiled. It was dirty. To place it between his lips now would be taboo.

He thirsted for Agathe, but he could not have her now. She belonged to another. She was disappearing before his eyes and soon she would be gone.

He could not let _her _evaporate. Not when he was so thirsty.


	19. Clover

**Chapter 19:**

**Clover**

* * *

Agathe brushed her hair back against the will of the wind.

Everything felt so wrong since the night of her father's funeral. No matter how she tried to move on, to escape the memories that threatened to destroy her, she would not let herself. It was only going downhill from there.

But she hadn't forgotten those little blossoms inside her body. They were awakening again after a long dormant winter; she pinned the fault on Georg's return.

She wanted to remember what it felt like when they all decided at once that it was spring. Once upon a time, Georg had given them the sunlight they yearned for. When he was around, they would sometimes flutter their petals, just barely blooming, though they were still too shy to open all the way. They seemed to like him very much...

She cast a sidelong glance at the man beside her. Something was wrong with the picture.

He was not Georg.

She knew she had acted out of anger. She knew she wasn't being true to her feelings. She knew some part of her desperately wanted to make Georg jealous.

She knew she had succeeded.

So why was she still clutching the arm of this man?

Georg could no longer take the saccharine efforts of these women whom he barely knew trying to strike up some pointless banter with him. He seized the chance to escape when he finally ceased to be the object of anyone's gaze, hoisting himself over the railing of the porch and running across the lawn just as quickly as Agathe's little brother had.

He did not know where he was going; he was venturing into new territory on their property - into the gardens.

He navigated his way through a brief hedge maze, the sound of a girl's faint singing drawing his curiosity to continue towards the center.

He stopped at the sight of Agathe's small sister, Abigail, sitting on a wooden swing in the clearing beneath a large willow tree. He saw her pale face look up from behind the weeping arms of leaves, a rich blue shadow cast over her underneath the canopy that separated them.

He cautiously approached her, pushing back the soft, scratchy strings of leaves like a lacy green curtain. She was not so ghostly looking under the shade as he could see her clearly. She did, however, hold a sorrowful sort of composure as she used her small feet to swing herself back and forth like a feeble pendulum. She stared straight at him with that unsettling forwardness that only a child can use appropriately. He gave her a half smile and settled against the side of the wide trunk beside her.

She did not sing anymore, or even hum, now in the presence of a man. Georg was sure she regarded him still as a complete stranger. He had spent all of his time with Agathe when he had the chance to know her siblings, but had doubted they would have taken a liking to him. He had no interest in children as it were.

He watched from the corner of his eye, the wilting ruffles of her coral pink dress that ended just above her bony knees. Her thin, gangly legs ended in charming disarray, with one foot utterly bare, and the other neatly tucked inside a white sock and polished gray shoe with the buckle tightly in place.

He smiled to himself and adamantly tore off the jacket that his aunt had forced on him; he would keep consistently casual.

He had not expected her to speak to him - and it had come as a minor shock when her light little voice inquired, "Why are you out here?"

It was not a tone of accusation, nor was it of defense. It was a simple, innocent question. She wanted to know what could have made him share the sorrow that only belonged beneath the shelter of a weeping willow.

"I...was not in the mood to talk to anyone out there." He admitted, partially revealing the truth.

She seemed to consider his confession in silence for a few moments. "I don't like talking so much anymore, either."

He exhaled quietly. This child had a legitimate excuse to be anti-social. The poor thing was still in mourning...they all were.

He looked over at her, and she smiled shyly at him, quickly looking down to her feet. He found it interesting that the children found it so hard to keep eye contact with him. He wondered how they would feel if he revealed to them that he found it equally daunting for some unknown reason.

With her eyes still fixed on her ankles, her lips opened slowly...

"Georg?" His name sounded so wonderfully bizarre being uttered by this tiny girl. And yet, she spoke his name with such genuine closeness - there was some level of intimacy in the way she called to him that made him wonder how well she knew him just by observation.

"Yes?" His voice came forth softer than he had expected.

"Can you push the swing for me?"

He almost laughed at her seriousness in asking him something so mundane. With some relief, he smiled and got to his feet, moving to stand behind her.  
"Of course...hold on, now." He ordered gently. Her pale hands gripped the frayed ropes as he placed his above hers and pulled the swing back. He let go and she flew forward, giggling youthfully. He repeatedly pushed her until she was high enough to kick the leaves. The soft sound of her skirt swishing and her giggles were the only sounds in the cottony confines of the willow.

He sat back down at the base of the tree and watched her with a contentedly oscillating gaze.

A gauzy wave of sunshine filtered through the mane of leaves, illuminating thousands of tiny particles in the slightly humid air. The dusty gold-green specks floating around her gave her an almost fairylike impression as she swung through the air, her shimmering amber hair coming loose from her braids with each sway.

She soon grew tired of keeping herself in motion, and the swing slackened, lowering and lowering ever so slowly until she was the sad little pendulum again, with her feet digging in the soil.

"Did you want me to do it again?" He asked in a hushed voice, unsure of whether she was too shy to ask him again.

She simply shook her head, staring at her feet as they slowly pressed the dirt to a fine powder.

He leaned his head back against the bark of the tree, and noticed a small gold ladybug crawling over his knee. Instead of flicking it away like he normally would have, he offered his finger to the insect and it inched unthinkingly across his flesh. As it reached the end of his wrist, it flared its tiny shell and its wings carried it into the air. What he would have given for wings of his own right now...

He picked through a small patch of clover by his hand, blindly counting the number of leaves. One two three...one two three...one two three...one two three - four.

Was it really? A fourth leaf on that clover? It was. He smirked and stuffed it into his pocket.

"She loves you, you know." The sweet, tiny voice came into his ears, and he swore it was a fabrication of his imagination.

He turned his head sharply to stare at the little girl. Her misty mint-colored eyes glazed in the weak light stared back at him, almost harshly.

He had no idea what to say. He knew who she was referring to, and yet what could he say on the matter?

"I'm...I'm not sure what you mean." He said shakily, completely taken aback by the young girl's forwardness.

"Agathe..." She whispered with some degree of churlishness. "She loves you." She said the words with such simplicity, such softness, it was almost too elementary to have caused him such dismay and profound contemplation before.

Agathe loved him? Could he be dreaming?

"How do you know?" He asked, trying to sound skeptical and even attempting to laugh it off, but he could do no such thing.

She shrugged, looking back to her lap. "I can just tell." She said nonchalantly.

He thought for a moment, his mind whirling in dizzy circles. "Do you think I love _her_?" He couldn't help asking.

She regarded him thoughtfully, then to his surprise looked down with a deeply amused smirk. "I don't know. It's harder to tell what a boy is thinking than a girl."

He laughed bitterly on the inside. So he had done his part in concealing his feelings...even a precocious preteen girl couldn't tell for sure when he was smitten with a woman.

He did not feel proud as he should have been. For some reason, he felt guilty. Why did he try so hard to be different, to be above everything and everyone else? What was so wrong with revealing his emotions? Had he been so brainwashed by his superior officers that they were controlling him in his everyday life? They weren't here now to punish him for it...

"I care about her...very much." He confessed sincerely, suddenly realizing his need to reveal his feelings to someone.

"I know _that_." She said with an almost sassy tone. He grinned. Maybe he was more obvious than he thought he was after all.

"Then..." he began hesitantly, "Will you tell her before I leave again? I just need her to know that."

Abigail paused. "Why can't _you_ tell her?" This time her voice had lost all its bite. Her tone was gentle, but wise.

"I'm afraid." He said immediately, without ever worrying what her reaction would be. He was forgetting why he wanted to hide all these emotions in the first place.

"You mean even after fighting in the war, you're still afraid to tell my sister that you care about her?"

Georg's heart stalled. It was so blissfully ironic. He was caught in the middle of his own web - after all his efforts to suppress and restrain everything he felt, it was all biting him back, and he now had to suck the venom out, all on his own.

"Yes." He said just above his breath. He met her eyes falteringly, "I may be a hero in the world of action, but I am a coward in the world of words."

He wondered if such a young girl would understand him, but there was a knowingness in her eyes that matched that of her sister's. He breathed in deeply and reached into his pocket to produce the four leaf clover he had picked. "Keep it." He said as he dropped it into her rope-burnt palm.

Georg sighed as he rested his elbow on the rail of the neighbor's fence. His heart burned fleetingly as he recalled the way he had waited in that same place and position for Agathe...back when he had meant something to her.

But he did mean something to her, even now - didn't he? Her sister had said so. He was hopeful enough to believe that Agathe's own sister would know her better than he did. Maybe this was just her way of playing hard to get.

Even so, why did she want to torture him like this?

He glanced around nervously. If Reinhart was taking Agathe for a walk, they would be likely to pass the place where they could see the horses. Agathe never went a day without visiting them.

What if they ran into him? He smirked wryly as he considered the possibility of such a thing occurring. So say that they did...How exciting_ that_ would be. Although, it could very well be just the opposite.

He didn't care. Hadn't he decided already that he would not care about anything that happened because he would be leaving in a week?

But he did care. He could fool little girls into misreading his feelings, but he could not fool himself, no matter how hard he tried.

_He did care._ He wanted Agathe. Wanted her more than was appropriate to want something - perhaps even _needed_ her, as hesitant as he was to use that word.

He never admitted to needing anything. His pride was such a problem. He used to think it one of his greatest attributes - his commanding officers had lead him to believe that was true. But now, with clear eyes, he saw that it was possibly his deadliest weakness. It could prevent him from having the woman he longed for...

_Kings who rule, blinded by their hubris, will suffer a most painful downfall._

Nevertheless, he was not proud anymore. He was anything but. He had learned the cruel way that he was indeed anything but invincible. Agathe would be able to recognize that, wouldn't she?

His hands went up exhaustively to cradle his forehead. He was relying a lot on her ability to read him.

Some essence of sensibility inside of him told him that it was just a game - Agathe couldn't have turned on him so erratically. But why would she play around like that with him - when she knew very well that he was going to leave at the end of the week?

A thick gust of wind tossed his hair back and he watched the horses gallop back toward the stables. Wondering what could have prompted their retreat, he looked to his side and noticed a man walking toward him from some distance away, with his hand on the fence. As the glare from the sun hid behind a cloud, he recognized the man to be Reinhart. _No wonder._

He quickly noticed Agathe was absent - in a way that made it all the more challenging. Was he really looking to talk to him alone? Georg had not prepared for a confrontation, if that was Reinhart's intent. Whatever he planned to say, it had to have some significance, hadn't it?

Georg straightened his posture out of habit, not willing to lose an inch of his height in the presence of this man.

"Nice evening." Reinhart called from a few meters away as he approached him slowly. Georg's eyes narrowed suspiciously. Was it evening already? How long had he been out here alone, thinking?

As he came closer, Georg could make out that absurd smile on his face - the same smile he had when Agathe's arm was in his - the same smile Georg recalled wanting to slap from his face.

"I, uh, understand you will be returning to your Naval duties come the end of the week." _Surely he was ecstatic about that..._

"I will be." Georg responded in an artfully arid tone.

"Quite daring of you, after the trauma of your...experience." _What could he know about it? _

"This war is my life. I have given myself up for it. I would be quite the coward to back down now, wouldn't I?" Georg asked smartly. This man clearly wouldn't know cowardice if it bit him on his painfully pig-like nose.

"You know...one can't help but admire a man who puts his country before himself - who is willing to put his life on the line for an entire army..."

_Navy._

"Agathe clearly admires you. That much is obvious." He continued, his voice flavorless, "But whether or not she _loves _you - that is another story."

So he _did _want to bring up Agathe. Georg was partly surprised he had introduced the topic so freely. However, it clearly meant that Reinhart was seeking resolve from him; it also meant that he felt threatened by him - that was enough to give him a small bout of pleasure.

"I don't care if I have her love." Georg said dogmatically. Somewhere inside his head, a voice akin to that of an enraged Naval officer shouted, '_Liar! Liar! Liar!'_

"Don't you?" Reinhart's calm inquiry, accompanied by a cryptically arched eyebrow, caused him to seethe inwardly.

"I don't. My concern is saved for more pressing matters." He struggled to keep his own voice leveled. There was an abundant silence before Reinhart's cold words sliced through him.

"But she has _your_ love."

Georg was so angry he couldn't even move. Suddenly, his vision filled with the color red. All he could see was that beautiful, rich, bloodlike shade of scarlet that he always was blinded by right before he broke things, before he discharged his temper... before he physically attacked someone.

Summoning all of his control, he regulated the pace of his lungs and said darkly, "You are a very presumptuous man, Herr von Hendelberg."

"I am whatever I feel I must be, given the situation at hand - not much unlike you, from what I can gather."

Drenched in irony, he was, yet again. It was almost as if he were fighting with himself. And that man's voice - it was insufferable - it was too much like his own voice...the words he used, the way he said them...

"Your confidence is quite a masquerade." Georg spat unceremoniously, "You _have_ Agathe, what more do you want from me?"

"I want to know that she is safe from your advances." Reinhart said airily. Georg felt his hands tighten around the wooden rail of the fence, savoring the splitting pinches of splinters puncturing his flesh. He was sure one had pierced that faint, but still painful scar on his inner wrist. He forgot how much physical pain could invigorate him.

"Hah! The only advances I will be making from here onward will be to enemy ships in the middle of the Adriatic." He retorted with a sarcastic tone of gentility.

Reinhart considered him for a moment, then gave a curt nod of modest satisfaction. "All's well, then. At least when we know you won't be hurting her again anytime soon."

Georg jerked his head around to face him. He wanted to tell him in his deadliest voice that _he did not hurt her..._but he _had. _And Agathe had obviously said something to him for him to know so much about what their story was. He was without a comeback to the bitter truth.

Somehow he managed to find his voice in his dither of feverish anger. "You underestimate the trouble you welcome in saying such things to me."

It was a line he had heard his own father use once, long ago. One he had never been able to forget. He had forgotten the very situation that had provoked it, the very person to whom he said it - but he vividly remembered the exact pronunciation of every syllable, the precise accent he placed on every word; the fresh, biting volumes of his tone. It sounded eerily identical to his memory when it came from his own mouth.

He was momentarily delighted at the look of uncertain fear on Reinhart's no longer smiling face. But he was not the type to back down easily, as Georg would learn the hard way.

"I imagine in the Navy you prefer to ruthlessly beat those who displease you." Georg could see the vein throbbing in Reinhart's temple as he forced out the words, "It does save _you_ the trouble of having to face those men using only the sounds produced by your tongue."

"Oh no, sir. I am not that sort of officer. My tactics _thrive _on the use of words - they turn loose all need for corporal punishment." _And this man would find out just how effective his tactics were if he didn't quit while he was ahead. He would give Reinhart a generous taste of the Navy - then maybe people would find it easy to admire _him _for a change._

"In that case I propose that we cease fire before we must resort to the latter." There was no waver to Reinhart's voice; Georg was disappointedly impressed.

_How clever he was being - weaseling his way out of a fight by trying to sound like the sensible gentleman._

"How would you have it then, sir?" Georg asked, throwing aside all use for mockery.

Reinhart responded diplomatically, "Simple. We men tamper with the matter no more. We let the woman decide. Fair for every facet."

Georg looked him straight in the eyes, gauging his honesty - he could clearly see the color of his eyes now, so close. They were hazel. A bitter, repulsive, tremendously upsetting combination of amber and olive. He never remembered being so disgusted by the earthy color before.

Reinhart continued with that polished air of politeness. "I will leave her alone to her thoughts - _you _will leave her alone to her thoughts...And we shall see who she comes running to."

Was he tricking him? Was he really willing to leave it all in Agathe's hands? Georg understood by making no moves to sway Agathe, he was taking a risk as well.

"Fine." Georg agreed, his tone devoid of all acidity. He was going to play fairly, even if he did not trust his opponent. He would say nothing to Agathe.

"I leave on business tomorrow afternoon. You have the advantage, Commander, you see?" He flashed him a toothy grin. How lovely those teeth would have looked scattered across the ground. A pity they hadn't decided to entertain physical combat.

"I won't be taking it - you have my word." Georg assured him solidly.

"Good man."

_Good man? Highly improbable. _

"Figaro! Figaro! Figaro!" Heinrich sang, not entirely off-key as he paced the study, waving his hands dramatically through the air. During the last ten minutes, Georg had half-listened to his cousin's pitiful rendition of _The Barber of Seville. _Georg was not about to admit that anything dealing with the opera now reminded him of Agathe. So he let Heinrich sing his ridiculous reprise, hoping at least to forget the events of the week before...particularly the sappy bastard with the Cheshire cat grin who stole Agathe from him.

Georg watched Heinrich belt out the aria with increased gusto, dancing around the furniture with a colorful silk scarf around his head, fashioned to look like a turban that barely covered all of his fair blond hair.

Apparently he thought he was being funny. Or perhaps he had somehow gotten hold of those bottles of absinthe...

"Figaro! Figaro! Figa-"

"Would you shut the hell up?" Georg interjected, unable to help the contradictory laugh that escaped.

Heinrich smirked but surprisingly obeyed his request, throwing himself down to lay across the loveseat, with his legs hanging over the arm.

Georg repressed an unexpected jolt as Agathe entered the room, followed closely by two of her friends. She cast him a look of mild interest, but said nothing more than a polite 'good evening' to show her regard for his presence.

He gave a silent incline of his head and watched her intently as she browsed the surface of the desk on the opposite side of the room, the two young women behind her talking casually amongst themselves.

"There it is." Someone said with an air of relief.

Georg pretended to have no interest in what they were up to, unlike Heinrich.

He reached for the magnifying glass laying on the mantel of the fireplace and seated himself on the ledge of the bay window. He repeatedly hit the handle of the object against his knee, searching for his reflex. When he finally found the point, he watched with wry humor as the lower part of his leg lurched upward.

"What is it, Aggie?" The raven haired young lady asked her friend with slight worry.

Georg raised his eyes discreetly to look at Agathe's face as she read a letter.

She wore a staid frown as she responded quietly, "Reinhart has bought me a coffee tree in South Africa."

_He bought her a what?_

"Oh, how charming!" One of her friends commented eagerly.

The other voiced Georg's internal confusion, "What good is there to owning a coffee tree that's on another continent?"

The dark haired girl replied smartly, "They mail you the coffee beans once they're ready to be picked, silly. Agathe gets all the beans that her tree has at the end of the season."

"So you can make your own coffee?"

The curious girl's questions went ignored.

"Is it Arabica or Robusta?" The smart, dark girl asked enthusiastically.

"Oh Arabica, naturally." The other assured haughtily, looking nosily over Agathe's shoulder at the letter.

A coffee tree. Who cares about a dumb coffee tree? Did that dolt have nothing better to do with his money than buy Agathe a tree in Africa? And hadn't he made a bargain with him that neither of them was to attempt to sway Agathe? _"I will leave her alone to her thoughts; you will leave her alone to her thoughts." _

Somehow, sending Agathe a letter and giving her gifts did not seem like playing fair. He should have known better than to trust that moronic, insecure coward.

Georg slammed the handle harder against his knee, obsessively counting the times he made his leg pop up.

"That's very thoughtful of him - you should write him back." The dark haired girl told her as she pried the letter from Agathe's loose grip.

Agathe appeared unmoved by everything they said, however. Georg studied her blank expression until she focused her gaze back in his direction. He rapidly began tapping his knee again, suddenly forgetting where his reflex point was located.

Heinrich shot him an odd glance from his place on the couch.

"Aggie?" One of her friends poked her to grab her attention.

"Yes!" She sighed with a start.

"Let's go outside, now."

"Oh, yes...sorry." She turned to her side and stared at the letter in thought. "I think I'm going write him back right now, if that's all right with you both." She said politely as she sat herself at the desk.

"Oh, of course, Aggie. We'll be on the patio." The dark haired girl pushed the shorter one out the door forcefully.

Agathe pursed her lips and stared pointedly at Heinrich and Georg.

"Gentlemen?" She hinted with a cough.

"Yeah...bye." Heinrich said distractedly as he slumped out of the room after the girls.

Georg stood and held her gaze briefly as they were alone in the room. The same tension existed between them, and it was no less pleasant, but now only in a bittersweet way. He had forgotten how wonderfully unsettling her eyes could be. He longed to stare into them, unhindered by distance. Silently, he walked out the door after Heinrich, never taking his eyes from hers. He purposefully left the door ajar and stood in the dark hallway, peering through the the slit of a view he had into the room, watching her scribble a letter in response. She looked almost sad as she was writing it, and the thought filled him with some wry degree of hope - that maybe she was rejecting his gifts; rejecting _him._

She neatly folded the paper and set it into a new envelope, but she did not seal it.

Georg backed away slightly as he could have sworn he saw her eyes glance toward the crack in the door. She couldn't have known he was there - could she?

He tried to soften his breathing as he inclined his eyes to watch her set the envelope in the first drawer of the desk. She pushed the chair back and stood up.

He casually walked fast in the opposite direction, entering the first room with an open door. He wasn't stupid enough to close it after him, or else she would be suspicious. He leaned against the wall inside the room and waited for her to pass him. He heard her footsteps grow faint as she walked to the end of the hall. As the back door creaked open and shut behind her, he carefully peeked into the hall, and seeing it empty, paced quickly back into the study.

He slowly closed the door behind him and returned to the desk she previously sat at. He lowered himself into the chair, and as he was about to open the drawer that held her letter, he noticed the envelope from Reinhart laying out on the surface of the desk. If she hadn't wanted anyone to come across it, she would have locked it up somewhere, or taken it with her...so he wasn't completely at fault if he decided to read it. He would be doing nothing really wrong, would he? Feeling pleasantly guilty, he pulled the note out and read it to himself:

_Dear Agathe, _

_I hope you and your family are doing well. I want you to know that I had a wonderful time with you this past week and I would like very much to see you again soon. I am in Switzerland right now on business with my father, and I should be returning within the next month. I am reminded of you when I walk past the many bakeries here in the town of Therwil. I recall you being the only woman I have come to know who prefers the taste of coffee to that of tea. I have taken the liberty of buying you your own Arabica coffee tree in the South Africa. You will be sent the coffee beans from your tree every season so that you can brew your own coffee at home. I look forward to seeing your lovely face again when I return. _

_Sincerely, _

_Reinhart_

It took all of Georg's self-control to keep from tearing the paper to shreds. He placed it back into its envelope with shaking hands and meticulously set it down at the exact angle at which he discovered it.

The sun was beginning to set outside the window, which melted in an eerie orange sweep across the walls.

His heart pounded mercilessly as he pulled open the drawer and reached for Agathe's response. He held it between his hands unsurely for a few minutes, pondering whether it was really appropriate of him to read her private letter to this man. He noted with some inquisition that she had not labeled the envelope with his name or address. Perhaps she wasn't even finished writing it yet. So it wasn't so bad to read it...it probably was only a few sentences long. He slipped the note out tentatively and opened it to lay flat on the surface of the desk.

_Dearest Georg, _

He blinked twice. Did it really say his name instead of Reinhart's?

Had he picked out the wrong letter? Had she been so distracted by his being in the room that she accidentally wrote his name down?

His heart surely would have outraced Reinhart's fourth place horse just then. He continued to read the letter, hoping for some hint as to who it was truly written for.

_I know that you will read this letter after I have left the room. Please don't pretend that you haven't once you have. I know you so well, Georg. You will never know just how much. You must understand that I have no feelings for Reinhart beyond those for a dear friend. Although, I can safely admit that his are not so modest for me. I regret dreadfully waiting so long to tell you this, but I don't know what came over me. I suppose the past few weeks have been hard on us all. Even on you. _

_The next time I see you will be tomorrow morning. I will meet you outside after mass; it is with utmost urgency that I speak to you before you leave me again. _

_Sincerely, _

_Agathe_

Georg stared at the letter for a long time. He memorized every loop and curl of her handwriting, the subtle consistency between letters, the words where the pressure of her pen grew...

It was hard to take in at first that everything that had plagued him over the past weeks was nothing more than an illusion, half created by his own cruel imagination.

She still preferred him to Reinhart. She didn't even like Reinhart more than a friend...But what _did_ she feel for this commander of the Navy?

Georg had a momentary spurt of excitement as he guessed she might tell him that she loved him tomorrow - but what would he say in return? Should he say he loved her back?

He wasn't sure if that were true quite yet...He still needed to think on it more deeply.

Blindly, he looked down to rub his knee, noticing the area where he had rather carelessly tested for his reflex felt tender - there would be some lovely bruises showing up there, he was sure.

He had until tomorrow morning to decide his loyalty to Agathe.

It was going to be a long night.


	20. This Ship is Yours

**Chapter 20:**

** This Ship is Yours**

* * *

Sunday morning was colder than anyone had expected. It seemed autumn had finally decided to stop hiding behind summer's long shadow.

Agathe knew the situation she had created was decidedly dicey; after all, she had planned to tell Georg her true feelings for him that morning. By noon he would be back on the seas again. It was now or never - it could be her last chance to even speak to him...She could never live with herself knowing she had passed up that chance while she still had it. _If _it were to be lost, that is.

She never recalled being so nervous before. No matter how many times she practiced saying the lines in her head, imagining him in front of her was never enough to prepare her for when she actually had to face him.

She would lose all of her carefully crafted words. Yes, she would choke up when they were face to face.

What was even more reason to be nervous, she did not even know how he felt towards her. She had given him every right to be angry with her by ignoring him and striving to make him jealous.

Something inside of her told her that he would understand. She knew how intelligent he was, how aware he seemed to be of the significance behind her actions. If he did not, then she would explain it to him today. She would clean up this whole mess that they were involved in before he left, and nothing would haunt her while he was away.

Agathe spent the church service in a daze of uncertainty. Once every two minutes or so, she would steal a glance at Georg across the diagonal. His back appeared rigid as he stood ahead of her. She was slightly disappointed that she had not once caught his gaze through the service. He did not show any emotion on his expression. His face was beautiful and impassive. And she would have to speak to him as he looked that way, as he looked into her eyes with that stoic façade.

By the latter half of the mass, her stomach was even unwilling to house the Eucharistic wine. She swallowed the pungent liquid with some uneasiness, only hoping that it would help to calm her before this was over. It didn't.

The congregation clustered out the doors as soon as the service ended. She made sure not to run into him before she was outside.

She waited patiently outside the side of the church, overlooking the steep side of the mountain into the misty air below. It was so much colder than it had been the past few days, especially at the high altitude.

She shivered and pulled her coat closer around her body. Self-consciously she fingered the opal necklace that he had given her, beginning to wonder if he hadn't read her letter...

A considerable gust of wind forced her to face the other way and she noticed his figure coming just around the wall to the churchyard.

Her heart thumped with anticipation as she watched his unheralded approach in his familiar gait. That way he walked had struck her from the very beginning - how he always looked so sure with the direction he was going. Even now, when she supposed he had to be the slightest bit nervous as she was, he kept that look of confidence with his consistent stride.

He exhaled heavily as he stood a few feet away from her, staring unwaveringly at her, waiting for her to explain herself. His jaw was held firmly, and his head had that slight uptilt to it that he used to convey pride. He didn't realize how intimidating it made him look.

"Georg, I...I'm so sorry." She hadn't planned to say it right out, but anything she had prepared beforehand went straight out the window. She was in survival mode now.

He furrowed his brow in disillusion.

"I don't want you to think that I don't care for you anymore, because I do. I care for you so much." She said shakily, unable to meet his steady gaze straight on.

"No, Agathe." She started at the sound of his voice - it was strained, as if it had not been used since he had awoken that morning. "I'm the one who needs to apologize. After all, I..." He paused and gave her an almost hurt look. "...Well, you know why." His voice quieted and she felt a blaze of something sultry and grasping inside her heart.

She smiled appreciatively at him through watery eyes. "I've already forgiven you, Georg... Do you forgive me?" She asked tentatively, though she was sure of his answer.

"As far as I'm aware, there is nothing to forgive of you." He said with more gentleness than she could take in his tone.

"Please just say it. I need to hear it." She ordered almost inaudibly.

"I forgive you." He whispered blankly, his eyes crystalizing with some unidentified emotion.

A small amount of relief eased her nerves somewhat.

"Georg..." She sighed delicately, the thin steam escaping her lips from the cold. Timidly, she placed her frail white hands under his jacket on his chest, drawing the warmth from him. "There were so many things I wanted to tell you, but now that you're here, I..." She shook her head sadly as she looked up at him. "...I can't remember half of them, and the half I _can_ remember I just can't put into words..."

"Then no words need to be said." He aided softly. His eyebrows quirked and he gave her the amused half-smile she had not seen in such a long time from him.

She felt herself blush soundly despite the frosty air as he took her jaw reverently between both his hands and kissed her.

His lips were just as cold as hers, just as shy at first after not having kissed another in so long. He gently parted her lips and touched his tongue to hers, startling her with the sudden heat. The taste of him was like a heavy elixir, energizing her and weakening her at the same time. Her knees slackened, and she earnestly brushed her fingers through his hair, ferociously pulling him closer to her. With her encouragement, he began to kiss her more vigorously, more like the way she remembered. The symphony of their heavy breathing and the sparse gusts of cold wind were the only sounds to be heard in the silent churchyard.

She savored the sound of his voice, deep and dense, as he spoke into her ear, "I never want to forget what kissing you feels like again..."

There was a pause in her pulse. Was he telling her what she thought he was telling her?

She looked pleadingly up at him through the mist of their breath. "Then don't leave me." She said quietly, involuntarily adding a question mark to her suggestion. Her trembling fingers linked with his and were instantly warmed.

His rutilant eyes widened slightly as he considered her. For a fleeting second, she was sure she could see the conflict inside his gaze - that there was still some chance, however small, that he would give up the war for her...

Suddenly, the expression on his face was one of vulnerable, helpless pain. He spoke words laced with a profound strain of hurt that were completely unexpected to her ears, "I watched every one of those men being buried..." He looked as though he were desperately holding back tears.

"I know." She murmured sympathetically as she soothingly stroked his hair back behind his ear. "Stay here, with me...you won't ever have to go through it again." She said, still pleadingly, betrayed by the doubtful look in her eyes.

He had either to refuse or accept her offer. But she could no longer see the conflict in his eyes.

After a moment of thought, he took a deep breath and prepared to counter her, just as she feared he would.

"Agathe," He fingered a lock of dark hair that fell across her shoulder. "I can't abandon my position now...the things I've seen have given me _more_ reason to return; not less." He stared at her solidly, willing her to understand what he said.

She felt the prickly, hot sensation of fresh tears in the beds of her eyes. He wasn't going to change his mind. In a strange way she admired his devotion; it was predictably adamant, yet it was what separated them time after time. He was simply born to be a part of the war, that Spartan glory he longed for; he would not live without it...even if it meant leaving her.

"I'm so afraid, Georg." She confessed, letting her tears spill. It was too late to hide them now.

"Why?" He asked intensely, trying vainly to lift her chin up, but she would not look at him. "Why?" He repeated, softer this time.

"I don't want you to die." She said, her voice like that of a little girl. She clamped her hands around the lapels of his jacket.

"I won't die." The confidence in his tone surprised her and she finally met his eyes. "I have too much to live for now." He said with that strange new lilt in his voice that he was using of frequent, a small but sincere smile on his lips.

She lovingly traced the lines of his face, committing every angle to her memory as she had countless times, knowing each time could be the last. But somehow this did not feel like the last time.

The faint echo of their names being called by his uncle sounded through the empty churchyard.

"Georg? Agathe? Hurry up now, we have a long drive ahead of us!"

She frantically pulled Georg back as he started to walk in the direction of the voice. "Please, I'm not ready." She whispered. She still had time to tell him...

"I have to go back." It was a simple, hushed declaration, but it meant so many things - mostly it meant he was leaving her to face what could be certain death.

She looked beyond crestfallen and proclaimed harshly behind her tears, "Georg von Trapp, you are a glutton for punishment!"

He stared at her with an expression that flitted between pity and indignation. It was no use, she could already see it in his eyes. He was not going to stay no matter how hard she begged him. But she refused to beg him anymore.

"I'll see you at the christening." He said numbly and broke free of her grip.

A sickening sinking feeling took hold of her as she watched him disappear around the high wall of the church. She had lost her last opportunity to tell him that she loved him - and it was as if he _wanted _to escape her before she said anything. He didn't want to hear it.

The church bells chimed majestically as she gazed over the vista of the mountainous landscape, her breathing feverish and uncontrolled. The air grew frigid around her again. She felt like she was free falling into a separate dimension, with no one to hold her back, and nothing to break her fall.

The wind whipped her hair across her face and she looked up, feeling her tears freeze on her cheeks. Seven white doves circled the steeple of the church and glided over the mountains in a small "V" as the wind carried them to an unknown destination.

Why couldn't she trust the wind to guide her? Why couldn't she fly with the birds over the mountains and never worry about being away from the man she loved again?

Six hours later they would be at the harbor, where she would have to watch him leave her again. He would take her heart with him over the Adriatic. And should he die, her heart would die with him.

Agathe stood still as a statue in front of the mirror as her mother tightened the bindings of her corset. She saw the look on her mother's face as she caught her eyes in the reflection. She was just as depressed...but she had no idea how horrible it was for her daughter - How she would have to stand back and let the love of her life go back to war. Her father had died in the war, and he hadn't even been a soldier. They had let him go willingly, but they had never doubted he would return to them one day when it was all over.

"It's not so bad, darling." Her mother's voice cracked slightly as she broke the unbearable silence. "We'll make the best of it - as we always have." She said sadly; that empty, lost tone ever present.

Agathe was tempted to argue vehemently; to tell her that accepting what was about to happen was not possible for her anymore. But it was better to lock that inside. She instead said nothing.

There was a lengthy pause during which Agathe felt the sureness of her mother's ministrations slacken.

She caught her gaze in the reflection and did not look away.

"Agathe. If you love him, tell him now."

Agathe braced herself, ready to burst into sobs. But she didn't. Instead she felt a commanding strength fill her entire being. It was unlike any sensation she had known when faced with hopelessness.

"You will never truly lose him if he knows that you love him." Her mother's wise words prompted the final stage in her regenesis.

It was not going to be easy, but she would find a way to show him before he was gone.

Georg was not in the mood to attend the departure ceremony. It was fabulous enough that he had to leave Agathe again, but did they really have to have a _ceremony _for it?

On the bright side, he would be seeing Arthur again; they would have a new ship, and a new crew. He would see Agathe, briefly, he supposed when she christened the ship. Everything was fine, excepting the fact that he could not be with Agathe anymore. He did not know why he was still so nervous.

He took his place beside Arthur at the assembly, scanning the soldiers with a helplessly critical eye.

"Where's the Captain?" Arthur asked him hushedly.

Georg skimmed the uniformed men. He hadn't noticed the absence of a Captain until Arthur said it. He could see the Admiral, the Commodore, but there appeared to be no Captain.

"Georg," Arthur hissed warningly, "Espart's coming."

Georg adjusted his posture, and waited with bated breath as Admiral Espart approached him.

He gave him a pointed look, but stopped just a meter or so away from him, and turned to face the crowd which immediately fell silent.

Arthur exchanged a confused glance with him as the Admiral's commanding voice addressed the people.

"After twenty-three years as an Admiral in the Austro-Hungarian Navy, I have rarely seen such bravery in the face of injustice as I have during these past few months. I am proud to call myself the leader of these fine men who serve their country with such fierce loyalty."

Georg relished in the irony of the words. The only place he would be appreciated for his devotion to the Navy, was in the Navy.

He stopped searching for Agathe.

"My friends, we have survived a great tragedy that occurred just last month - the deaths of Herr Whitehead, Captain Lanphear, and his crew."

Georg struggled to keep from letting his head drop down.

"But wherever there exists a tragedy, there also exists a hero."

Even the sound of the seagulls ceased at the Admiral's words. Georg swallowed, suddenly realizing where it was all going.

"In my experience as an officer of war, there is no greater act of heroism than when a man risks his own life to save another."

_Oh Good Lord, this wasn't happening._

"When I returned from Gateshead last week, I was told I must appoint a man to be Captain of this crew. This man would have the honor of being Captain not only to the _SMS Adria, _but to the first U-boat commissioned by the will of the late John M. Whitehead."

So they would be using the submarines after all...Georg's heart pounced as he recalled Agathe's comment when they first met. _'Someday, you may be fighting a war in one of those 'infernal' crafts.'_

It just got more ironic as it went on.

"I could think of not one man more suited for the job," Admiral Espart continued as an officer approached him, holding a medal of some sort. The Admiral received the medal, turned to face Georg and smiled at him.

Georg grew perfectly numb with shock as the first of many such awards to come was placed around his neck. "Captain Georg von Trapp, this ship is yours."

His vision faltered for a moment, and everything seemed to move in slow motion. He could see the Admiral's proud smile, the amused expression of disbelief on Arthur's face as he pounded his back and said, shaking his head, "You crazy bastard."

Somehow Heinrich found him and attacked him from behind, always his obnoxious self.

He was unsure if the uproar of whatever was happening around him was real. He blindly accepted the congratulations of everyone who approached him, but all the while, he couldn't think of anything but Agathe.

He had wanted nothing more than this only weeks before. But now he had no way to fully appreciate what he had been given when she was not with him. She was probably even angrier with him now.

Georg just barely made out the sound of the Admiral's voice as he announced, "The _SMS Adria_ will be christened by John Whitehead's daughter -"

He watched her take the champagne bottle from the Admiral and step onto the elevated dock.

The sound of cheers and applause broke out as she crashed the bottle against the side of the boat with surprising force.

And across the considerable distance between them, she locked his gaze with hers and smiled.

That coy, clever, knowing, bewitching smile - she had found his eyes in the crowd of at least a hundred men dressed in identical uniform as if she had known of his exact place all along.

That was it. He loved her.

What came with that sort of realization, he could not even describe.

It was the first time in his life that he welcomed his complete loss of control. He found the sense of helplessness impairing in a delicious way.

It was as if he had fallen overboard and was drowning, free-falling into oblivion, but he made no effort to resurface.

If having oxygen in his lungs would take her away from him, he would irrefutably give it up to keep her in his life.

He would have given any part of his being for her, and any such part he did not possess, he would obtain it somehow, some way. Just for her.

This, Georg guessed, was love.

And there had been no bolt of lightning, no booming voice of God from the heavens. He had been right about that.

No - This revelation was quicker and hotter than any bolt of lightning could have struck his body; it was louder than any declaration from God could have sounded through his ears.

It was so fast, so sudden, so ridiculous, that it did not even occur within the confines of any of the four dimensions.

It was as if it had always been. And he knew for certain that it always would be.

He had to show her somehow. How could he let her know?

Then it hit him - Why couldn't he just _tell_ her? He had a perfectly good voice; he was finally going to use it for a change.

"Georg, where are you going?"

All he could see was her figure standing by the ship - just her, surrounded by a blur of washed out colors and random movements.

She was still looking at him, her smile changing to a soft pout.

He reached up for her hand and she fell against him, her lovely brow furrowed in confusion.

"I love you." The words slipped so easily from his mouth, he wanted to say them again, just to be sure he had not dreamed he had said them. But before he could repeat them, her pout broke into an angelic grin, and she threw her arms around his shoulders and kissed him.

He thought he heard the volume of the crowd increase slightly, but it might have all been in his head. He didn't care. He had Agathe, and he would have her forever now.

She brought her hands down to rest above the medal that hung around his neck. "I've loved you for so long, Georg. I was just afraid to tell you." The tears shed from her eyes glittered in the sun that he had suddenly just noticed was in the sky.

"Then will you be my wife?" He asked humbly, closing his hands firmly around hers.

Her crystal clear eyes widened in momentary disbelief, then she laughed with the beautiful, infectious mirth that he remembered.

"Yes, I will be your wife...Captain."

It was quite possibly the most inconvenient time Georg could have chosen to propose, but that was the way God had planned it, and there were no questions when it came to His plans.

He left on his first ship that afternoon as planned, and he followed no one's orders but his own. His greatest motivation, perhaps his only motivation now, was that when he returned, he knew she would be there for him and they would be married.

That knowledge, and the perpetual happiness she brought to him just by existing was what kept him sane, what made him an efficient leader, a fair fighter, a _good man_ inside.


	21. A Part of Something Greater

**Chapter 21:**

**A Part of Something Greater**

* * *

Georg could hardly retain anything of what was being said by his fellow officers. He knew just outside the confines of the submarine, the beautiful scenery of his homeland was waiting for him. Not to mention, he was incredibly anxious to see his fiancée, although he would probably not get that chance until their actual wedding.

Georg had been slightly jealous when Heinrich was excused early with the rest of the crew, permitted to go home a day prior than Georg would be allowed to. His position as a Captain had its drawbacks, although it was well worth it.

He was now in a conference of sorts with other officers in the fleet, supposed to be paying attention to what they were telling him, but God help him, he couldn't follow one word. There was a constant flow of bliss through his mind as he thought of the days to come. Agathe was going to be his wife. It was almost more inconceivable now than it had been when he first asked her to marry him.

He surreptitiously gazed at the men around him - they were so much older than he was...many were past middle age, and the majority were over fifty. The admiral in particular was wholesomely intimidating, sitting at the head of the table in the cramp quarters, looking something like an Egyptian Pharaoh in the cool, gold light. Georg felt a moment of insecurity sitting before them, now, even as his youth often went unrecognized.

Georg glanced at his watch discreetly, and reached for his glass of water. His throat was still sore from yelling orders, he noticed absently with a smirk.

Georg was obviously not claustrophobic by nature, but after spending months in a confined space, six-hundred feet under the sea, he was getting a little more than a hint of the feeling.

The minutes dragged by until finally, he was released from the meeting. He tried not to look too eager in his escape as he fled from the ship, jumping gracelessly from the hatch and down the ladder onto the station dock.

He breathed in the fresh air from the sea, his eyes struggling to adjust to the sunlight in a painful, though not unpleasant process. Making his way through the crowd, he looked up the hillside at the grandiose silhouette of the cathedral that stood at the top - tomorrow the sacrament of holy matrimony would be his and Agathe's to claim at last, in that very church.

"Welcome home, Captain." The driver's polite voice came from the front seat of the car as he pulled into the driveway of his Aunt and Uncle's house. Georg didn't even wait for the driver to stop before climbing out of the car.

He was greeted by the unexpected shouts from a child rushing eagerly down the front steps towards him, "Georg, you're back!"

Agathe's young brother had grown at least five inches since Georg last saw him. "Hello, Michael! When did you get here?" For a fleeting second, he wondered if that meant Agathe was somewhere in the house as well...

"Mum sent me over yesterday morning - there's too many girls at my house." He explained distastefully.

Georg chuckled richly at the boy's expression. He bent down to playfully place his officer's hat on Michael's head, "What a _nightmare_ that must be!" He said with humoring passion. It was not entirely untrue, as he thought briefly of how Agathe's house was no doubt swarming with her gaggling friends the entire week. But he would have gladly braved the chaos for a chance to see her beautiful face, if even for a moment...

"Did you sink lots of ships?" The child asked him excitedly. Georg's eyes turned down to watch Michael's vain attempts to adjust the hat upon his small head, as it insisted on covering his eyes at every angle.

He stifled a laugh and said proudly, "So many I lost count!"

"More than a hundred?" Michael guessed energetically as he jumped up the steps two at a time.

"Something like that." Georg settled as he nudged his admirer towards the door.

As Georg had expected, the arms of his aunt promptly flew around him upon his entry. "Oh, my darling. We were so worried about you..."

His eyes narrowed in confusion. "But Heinrich... he came back early - surely he told you I was fine." He struggled in her surprisingly firm grip to allow air to pass through his lungs.

Her voice hardened in anger as she explained aversely, "Yes, Heinrich had some good fun with us when he came back. Indeed." She wiped a wayward tear from her cheek.

The corner of Georg's mouth twitched upward in realization. "Oh, Aunt Moni, he didn't."

"Yes he did! He came stalking through that door, with one of your torn jackets..." She waved her hands in a flustered gesture and brought them back to frame her cheeks. "Oh darling, it was so cruel. I almost told him that he couldn't come to the wedding!" Some of the initial anger crept back into her voice.

_That would have been good news to return home to, _Georg thought amusedly.

"Well, as you can see now, I'm perfectly fine." He said reassuringly as he could without laughing.

"Yes." She stepped back to smile fondly at him, then patted his shoulder. "Agathe will be so pleased to hear from you - there hasn't been a day this week that she failed to call." She made her way into the kitchen, and he followed her with Michael trotting on his heels behind him. "She even settled for talking to Heinrich for a whole hour yesterday just to ask him about you."

He found himself grinning like a poor lovesick teenager at the mention of Agathe's name. "Is that so?" He hoped Heinrich hadn't tried to pull the same trick on Agathe as he had on Monica.

"Odelle says she's as high-strung as a hummingbird, poor dear." Monica said airily as she carefully removed a tray from the oven.

"He he - Aggie's a hummingbird!" Michael giggled tauntingly to himself as he waltzed giddily around the dining table.

"Oh, we're all a bit over-excited, I suppose." She said helplessly as her eyes followed Michael's dizzying circle.

Georg sat himself down by the edge of the counter and watched as she trimmed the crust of the pie she was baking with a knife.

"Where _is _Heinrich?" He asked curiously as he watched her bend over to slip the tray back into the oven.

The metallic echo of her voice responded from beside the oven, "He's out with your uncle - they're getting their suits fitted for tomorrow. I told Albrecht to go sooner but he always waits until the last minute, the old fool."

Georg sniffed with silent laughter.

She straightened herself up and brushed back the strands of hair that had fallen from her Dutch braided crown. Although his family was rich enough to afford a cook or even two for their household, his aunt had always been insistent on doing all of the cooking herself. He never stopped to find it endearing before, but the sight of her in the kitchen again brought him an odd sort of comfort. He wondered if Agathe would cook when they were married... He couldn't see her wanting to get her hands sticky with molasses, or her clothes dusted with flour. It was an entertaining thought, even if it was never to happen.

"I had the rings ordered last week as well." Monica added casually as she washed her hands in the sink.

Something stung Georg slightly as he remembered the regret he initially felt at not being able to purchase an engagement ring for Agathe before he left her again. She had told him over and over again that she didn't care if he never gave her another piece of jewelry for as long as they lived, but he still insisted on feeling guilty about it. After they were married, he would tell her to take along an empty suitcase on their honeymoon which he planned to fill completely with diamond rings - perhaps one for every day they had been apart.  
He had regretably had much of the work cut out for him when it came to the organization of their wedding, the purchase of their own home, the plans for their honeymoon... They had all been taken care of by Agathe, her mother, his aunt and uncle. That was what happened when he was not present during these busy times. It was not something he liked, but it was inevitable because of what he was. He himself had made a sacrifice by serving in the war, not only for his country, but for his family as well. And that was what Agathe was now - his family.

He looked up briefly and caught his aunt staring at him. She turned the faucet off and said softly to him, as though reading his thoughts, "She's happy enough just to be marrying you, Georg."

He gave her a weak, but appreciative smile. Still it wouldn't hurt to make it up to his new wife, would it? Of course, Agathe being the kind woman she was, would most likely refuse his offers. Their honeymoon would not be all about jewelry though, nor did he want it to be...

"Now!" He snapped back to life as Monica clapped her hands and called for Michael. "Where is my ring bearer?"

The boy promptly ran up to her with outstretched hands.

She reached for a lacy white pillow on a high shelf and dusted it off before setting it in his tiny palms. She then placed two small coins on top of the pillow in place of rings, and ordered him to walk the length of the room and back without letting the coins slip from the pillow.

"He's been practicing all afternoon!" She exclaimed proudly as Michael balanced himself in a wavering pace.

"You're doing quite well, Michael." Georg said encouragingly, putting forth considerable effort to mask his wince at the boy's tendency to stumble.

"I'm still not perfect." He responded with a pout.

"Well, there's always room for improvement," Monica said brightly as she ruffled his hair. "We'll just have to keep on practicing, won't we?"

Michael shrugged and turned tentatively to Georg, a look of fright in his young eyes. "Heinrich said if I dropped the rings, you'd make me a permanent resident of..of...Davy Jones' locker."

"Why, of all the preposterous -!" Monica burst incredulously, her hands flying up to her heart in a most comical display that would have been more appropriate on a theater stage. "Georg would never dream of doing such a thing to you, dear. Don't you listen to my son - he's got the worst tongue on him, that one!" She slapped the counter animatedly with a dishcloth. "Hoo, I'll prepare a nasty punishment for him if he dares to speak another word of such nonsense to you again!"

Georg's laughter subsided as he imagined just what sort of 'nasty punishment' she had in mind. A transient string of memories surfaced in his mind as he remembered how his own father used to scrub his tongue with soap whenever he caught Georg lying to him. If he thought hard enough, he could still recall the brutally bitter taste in the back of his mouth...

He took a deep breath and swept the memories away - now was not the time to be thinking of such things. He was in the midst of the most joyous time of his life, and with people who loved him dearly.

"I don't take well to you boys and all of your silly seafaring talk...All this about making each other walk the plank and Davy Jones and...and..." His aunt said as she distractedly began wiping the counter clean. "How would it be if the next time one of you gets on_ my_ last nerve, I threaten to...feed you to an octopus!"

Georg brought his hand to his chin to quickly cover his laughter. "I don't think it works for you, Moni." He said politely.

"Such inappropriate...rubbish.." She muttered under her breath as she ran her hands under the sink again.

After innocently surveying the scene, Michael proclaimed in a lordly tone, "When I'm old enough, I'm going to join the Navy, too!"

"Oh, don't _you _get caught up in this nautical nonsense as well!" Her warning chides went unnoticed by Michael, who continued dancing around the table again, eagerly listing the feats he expected to accomplish.

"I'm going to sink submarines and shoot pirates and collect shark teeth and -"

"How glamorous he makes it sound." Georg remarked softly to his aunt, who merely gave him a look of disapproval.

She sighed and turned back to seek refuge by her oven.

Taking it as his cue to leave, he stood from his seat. "I suppose I should telephone Agathe, now." He murmured to her back as he retreated from Michael's noisy display.

The evening before his wedding day, Georg did more thinking than he had ever done in his life in just a few hours. When he thought of it on unspecific terms, the act of entering a marriage willingly seemed utterly nerve-wracking and even careless on his part. But when he reminded himself of that breathtaking young woman with whom he was entering the sacred union, it suddenly became a most bearable idea.

He was, admittedly, slightly afraid when he allowed himself to recognize the foreign feeling. Someone depended on him. Someone would rely on him almost completely for the rest of his life. And it would not even be only _one_ person, with a bit of time. This was not a commitment one could enter by enlisting, or escape by resigning. There was no training to prepare oneself for a marriage; no ranking system he could use to measure his success. But there would be conflicts, battles he would have to fight to keep up with his partner. He knew he was not a coward enough to abandon her, but he did not deny himself that it would be a challenging experience, no matter how easy it seemed now.

His mind churned with the same redundant arguments all through the night. It was as if he had Socrates and Glaucon in his own head, their repetitive persiflage resound in his ears as they fruitlessly analyzed his ability to commit in this marriage.

_'So suppose this marriage were to occur as planned, and the groom were to carelessly abandon his wife to be at the altar. Do we agree that he would be making quite a fool of himself if he were to act in this way?'_

_'Most certainly, Socrates.'_

_'And what of his bride? Would she not react with devastation at her groom's behavior?'_

_'I can see no reason to think otherwise.'_

_'And what of his family and those in attendance? Shall we say that they, too, would display disapproval toward his actions?'_

_'Undoubtedly, they would indeed.'_

_'And this man would most certainly live in shame for the rest of his life if he were to engage in said behavior?'_

_'That is very true.'_

_'We have, then, established a fair case by which to claim that this man should avoid, by every means possible, questioning his commitment to this marriage.'_

_'Naturally, Socrates.'_

Georg sighed and preceded to cover his face with the largest pillow within reach. It wasn't so much that he believed he would back out at the last minute, but he feared for Agathe's sentiments on the matter as well. Did she have her own uncertainties about this marriage? Did she doubt_ his_ ability to commit?

She had sounded content enough when he spoke to her on the telephone earlier.

He recalled the irresistible breathiness of her voice over the fuzzy speaker.

_"I wish that we could be together tonight."_

_"It's only one more day."_

_"Well, I wish it would come faster. I miss you so deeply, Georg. Hearing your voice is not enough..."_

What _would_ be enough? Just how deeply _had _she missed him?

These were the thoughts that plagued his regretfully one-dimensional brain at the moment.

He had been curious about these things not long after they had been reintroduced. But being ninety-nine percent sure that she now shared his curiosity, he was disturbed by the only uncertainty left - his own capabilities as a husband.

This was not something that concrete calculations or a well-crafted conditional argument could help him through. He could make all the predictions he wanted, but the only way to test them would be to run the experiment. In the ideal world of mathematics and science, he would conduct as many trials as he needed to illicit proper justification. In life, he had only one. One trial, one chance, one time to make it work.

He turned onto his side, and pressed the pillow underneath his head. The darkness slowly grew thicker around him, and he welcomed it heartily as he felt his eyes grow heavier and heavier...

_He pulled Agathe up the ladder to the submarine and watched her descend into the craft below him. He jumped in after her and followed her through the cramp doors, her melodious laughter echoing eerily through the narrow passageway. She climbed through the last door and happily sat herself on the end of his bed. She opened the croissant she held in her hands and out poured hundreds of sparkling diamond rings. "Oh, Georg! You shouldn't have!" She cried hysterically as she stood, waist-deep in the jewels. _

_He began to frantically dig her out of the growing pile of rings, but no matter how many he pushed out of his way, he couldn't reach her. The physical laws of displacement seemed to be non-existent. She appeared to be falling asleep, now..._

_No. He couldn't let her close her eyes..._

_Then a man appeared at his side, and began tossing small white flowers onto her body - It was Admiral Espart... and he was burying her with edelweiss. Georg tried to tell him to stop or else she would suffocate, but he only ignored him. _

_Georg shouted as he felt something hard and sharp hit him from behind. He turned around in startlement to see Reinhart's wide, white smile, holding a broken champagne bottle in his hand. "Hah ha! I have christened you, Captain!"_

_Georg fell to his knees, unable to bear the pain in his back. He opened his eyes and found himself in an open field of green grass. The sun was illuminating the small figure of a young girl running towards him with outstretched arms. "Papa! You're home!"_

_He reached urgently out for the little girl, but as he touched her, she disintegrated into a pile of pink dust at his feet. A strong gust of wind blew the dust in his face, and he coughed heavily, waiting for the air to clear. _

_Then, the form of a young woman with short blonde hair, dressed in a simple apron covered dress was visible before him in the field. She was singing. He was mildly hypnotized by her sweet voice, and his feet walked toward her of their own accord. She turned to smile brightly at him, her face a frustratingly faint but pleasant flash of washed out primary colors - and in that moment, everything vanished. _

His eyes snapped open as he lay still in his bed, staring at the clock on his nightstand. The rays of sunlight streaming through his window warmed him as he pulled himself upright to sit on the edge of the mattress. What an odd dream that had been...

He remembered, for a split second, what it had consisted of - then suddenly, it slipped from his grasp. What had it been about, again?

Nothing. He could remember nothing from it at all. It was gone.

He had not even_ had_ a dream, he supposed.

It did not matter, anyway- something was important about today. What was it, what was it...?

Of course. Today was the day he was to be married to Agathe Whitehead.

His conscious self came rushing back to him at once. He had to get ready.

Georg struggled to keep still as his aunt buttoned up the front of his jacket in a painfully slow pace.

She had insisted on helping him get ready that morning, and although he had assured her that he was perfectly capable of dressing himself in his own uniform as he had countless times before, she would not take no for an answer.

_"This may be the very last time I will put a jacket on you, darling. At least be a gentleman enough to humor me." _She had said.

It was useless to fight her.

He stood as still as possible, listening to the singing of starlings outside the open window, their song for the first time sounding sweet to his ears.

"I still _can't_ believe you're getting _married_." She murmured half to herself as she lingered on the last button near his collar. "It all happened so quickly."

He fidgeted, fighting back the urge to slip the damned button through himself.

"Aren't you finding it hard to believe yourself?" She asked almost pleadingly.

He answered her honestly as she finally finished with the last button. "I suppose I am..." The birds' song softened.

He could no longer feign blindness to the intense affection in her gaze. "You grow more handsome every day." She said with a sad smile, cocking her head as she looked up at him.

It was something he was used to hearing, especially from his own aunt. But for some mysterious reason, it felt so significant to him in that moment. He felt himself blushing marginally.

She resumed her predictable habit of straightening his collar. "You don't know how bittersweet it is for me to watch you, and Heinrich, growing up...becoming men. I still think of you as children sometimes." She let her hands slip down his shoulders and raised her eyes to his face again. "You are still so _young_." Her voice was hardly a whisper.

He shifted uncomfortably, and she moved to the mirror, speaking in hushed tones. "You don't realize it. I know that you think of yourself as fully matured at this moment, but... you will reach a certain age when you look back on this time of your life and see that you had _so much_ still ahead of you. Your life is only just beginning now."

The impact of what she was saying hit him with the force of a cannonball. He had a taste of that notion before, with the realization that until he met Agathe, he never truly cared for anything, or put his full trust in anyone. Now that she had freed him from his own prison, he was able to live his life in a way he had previously feared. And it was a more difficult way to live...it had been easier when nothing affected him. But the sacrifice of being sensitive to those emotions had made it worth the hardships he had faced to get to this point.

He watched his aunt's eyes glisten in the reflection of the mirror, their color that of dewy shamrocks. "I often regret your having been in this war." She confessed quietly.

"That's no secret, Moni." He said with soft amusement, attempting to lighten the mood.

"Well, if it had been up to me, I wouldn't have let any of you go to that _blasted _academy!" She retaliated with vehement, albeit strangely weak passion, discreetly stroking the bed of her left eye with her knuckle.

"You never wanted us in the Navy, did you?" Georg gently stated more than asked.

"I never _wanted_ it, heavens, no! But that doesn't mean that I didn't _appreciate _it." She told him with striking sincerity. She closed her eyes briefly as though suppressing an unknown pain. "It's so hard for a woman, Georg. Especially a mother, to watch her sons risk their lives. A wife to watch her husband leave..."

That was what he would be inflicting upon Agathe - she would be a wife, watching her husband leave. The message hit hard when he thought of it from a new perspective. It was difficult enough for _him_ to leave her, but at least he had some control over whether he returned or not. He imagined the pain Agathe must have felt not knowing from day to day if he was even alive...

"But I don't regret it now, seeing what you have accomplished; what you have made yourself into." Monica said fondly, hesitantly touching the third gold band stitched across the cuff of his sleeve.

What he had _made _himself into...He had _made _himself into something. That was what he had done - in a crude way of putting it. He was still the same man beneath it all, no matter how many times his title changed.

"Your father would have been so painfully proud of you, Georg. God rest his soul. And your dear mother, too. She may very well have swooned at the sight of her own son in that uniform."

He laughed genuinely, relieved to veer from the serious direction the conversation was taking. His mother was nowhere near as formidable a memory to revive as his father. He remembered his mother much more vividly - her fair golden hair, her bright cheerful smile in her rosy face, the way she could relieve his every pain with the slightest touch of her slender hand, the way her voice could always comfort him no matter how hopeless he was feeling. She had been the perfect foil of his father.

"They would have been equally proud of you on your wedding day." She said driftingly.

He again shifted under her scrutinizing gaze.

Her eyes steadied at once, as she straightened herself up. She cleared her throat effectively; her voice filled with its characteristic robustness when she spoke. "You aren't going to get cold feet, now, are you?"

His eyes widened ever so slightly at her implication. "I love Agathe." His voice was exquisitely steadfast.

His aunt smiled as she brought the ring bearer's pillow out onto the vanity table.

"She is a perfect match for you. I knew it from the very beginning." Her green eyes twinkled purposedly, "And I know that you will treat her like the treasure she is. She's truly an angel."

"She is." He agreed wistfully. He thoughtfully stroked the cool, golden ring on the pillow. "And now she will belong to me..." He added, just beneath his breath. He hadn't meant for it to be audible at all, but his aunt's sharp ears had caught the slip.

"Yes, yes, she _is _yours...But you must remember now that you are also _hers._" Her voice was kind, but there was a hint of subtle admonishment implied.

He smirked lightly at her reminder. As much as he disliked the idea of being someone's possession, belonging to Agathe was something he didn't mind in the slightest. By the look on his aunt's face, he guessed she was well aware of that fact.

"A fortunate one, to have earned _your_ tightly fastened affections." She said to him, not without a small dose of disfavor, as she dusted the front of his jacket using more force than was necessary. Stepping back to take in his finished appearance, she sighed heavily, "Oh, sweet Lord in heaven... you'll give her plenty of beautiful children. Dear, dear..._God bless her_." She discreetly fanned herself with the folded bulletin and turned to regard her reflection in the mirror again.

Georg found it mildly hilarious when she went off using her decorative religious exclamations. But her reaction just then had surprisingly made him slightly hot under the collar himself.

People were eyeing their marriage to produce a family quite..._expectantly. _And his aunt had implied that he would have not only some children, but _plenty_ of them - whatever in God's name that meant.

He had never been so keen on having a large family before, but after all, they would be _his _children, wouldn't they? They had only to be either like him or Agathe...or both, which was not a bad combination if he said so.

He turned once more to catch his aunt's eyes severely trained on him. He could already tell she was going to go hysterical during this service - he would be immensely surprised if she made it past the _"I do's"_ without shedding a tear.

But for the first time that morning, he was not hindered by any degree of compunction - no nerves to put a waver in his stride. He realized now that he would be a part of something greater than he had ever imagined he deserved. His marriage to Agathe, their unconditional love for each other, the family they would create together in the name of that love - that was infinitely greater than any victory he could claim in the war. No matter how much he loved his country, he would forever love her more.


	22. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

* * *

The day he returned to her from that year-long period of absence, the day of their wedding, she had barely recognized him. Over the course of those last twelve months at sea, he had gone from youth to man, the man she would forever love more than life itself.

She hadn't remembered marrying a man quite so aristocratically formal, nor so devastatingly handsome. She would never erase the fleeting memory of how he looked when she saw him finally after those long months that crawled by like years; just across the altar from her in that horrendously distracting uniform, she could scarcely hear the words from the priest as he pronounced them man and wife.

He was just as tall, but seemed more imposing; just as strong, but seemed more powerful; just as intelligent, but so much more intimidating. The features of his face were familiar, but now appeared fully developed, as though what they were now simply what they had been striving to be all along.

She had thoroughly studied his person, as though seeing him for the first time, allowing herself to notice the little things about him that composed his body and mannerisms. His hair, his shoulders, his posture, his hands, his stride, his neck, his fingers, his voice...Oh heavens, his voice. If she would fight to keep from swooning each time he spoke her name, she would gladly accept it as her fate. His voice had shocked her when she first heard it after all that time. After so long, you begin to forget a person's voice, but she had prided herself in thinking she had never forgotten his - but she had been so wrong. It was considerably deeper, more intimate, a richer intensity, with an elegant fluidity about it that left her breathless. It had required that recurring lilt that she had only once heard from him before, and at the same time she was not aware that it would soon become one of his most endearing habits. If it were possible, she was smitten with him all over again. That was the night Liesl was conceived.

She fell limp in his arms as he carried her to their room, laid her on the bed, and tortured her. She was numb with nerves at the initial prospect of being bedded by this proud stranger, but as he released his every passion in her, there was no doubt in her heart that he was indeed her husband.

The mounting pressure that had been building up from the moment she had entered the room with him had become almost to great to bear. It seemed every last ounce of tension, energy, and heat in her body was rushing toward that point of fragile femininity that so often went unspoken of. She had the distant notion that she was on the edge of something but was unsure as to what. She had done her best not to think of him as the man she knew him to be. It had been, perhaps, rather foolish of her, but she had been afraid, intimidated by his very presence. In her effort it made it so much easier to imagine him faceless in the darkness. As her eyes slowly adjusted, however, it became harder to ignore the noble silhouette of his profile, his glowing eyes, his taunting half-smile...

The way he lingered on each part of her body, focusing his complete attention on a single finger, or a coin-sized space of skin. Each brush of his hands on her drawn out almost cruelly, eliciting her familiar gasp, her flesh flaming with the heat of his gentle touch. He carried on this way as though they had all the time in the world. And now they did. He had promised her that there was no need to rush - the night would wait for them, not the other way around...

She was utterly captivated by him, how he managed to thrill her so easily, with just the lightest caress, the softest kiss, the faintest whisper. His voice was velvet that night, the reverberations of his scandalous words commanding her to cling to his frame in desperation, dimly aware of the danger that just hearing her name escape his lips could cause her to cave in completely.

She had touched him, truly for the first time that night, feeling the energy of his body, navigating the tender pink gashes of scars earned in battle, reverently tracing complicated patterns across his chest, just to feel the artfully tainted smoothness of his warm flesh, awestruck at they way his muscles flexed and relaxed under the ministrations of her trembling fingers.

She had responded with such unfettered zeal when he kissed the inside of her wrist. It was a most curious reaction that he had been obviously fascinated with, and repeated the action several times to elicit the same response from her.

He had rendered her breathless in the directness of his bold gaze; the way his ice blue eyes melted into a brilliant cerulean as they dilated in response to her touch. And he had insisted on staring into her eyes, through everything. He had never looked away. It was so divinely terrifying. She would not hold under the tender pressure of his gaze for more than a few seconds at a time. It was unbearable - that way he looked at her. Those little blossoms always burst to life when he looked at her that way...that way that was neither frosted by isolation, nor clouded by desire. It just _was. _Such an honest, intimate, pure and clear gaze that possessed the sharpness of a blade, knifing open her very soul.

With every gentle press of his lips against hers, something like an unraveling rope inside of her loosened against her will, with each tender caress of his adroit fingers across her skin, another latch came unhitched, every affectionate word whispered in his deep, velvety voice made her breath catch and her mind fill with mellow white static. His hand came to rest beneath her breasts and her heart pulsed reflexively as though magnetized to his palm. The slow reactions inside of her immediately escalated to an entirely inappropriate throbbing.

The feeling she had thought to be fear made itself clearer in the absence of everything but their own two bodies tangled in slow, soft motions. She did not feel fear, but rather a sort of trembling anxiety for that which she anticipated to come. In a distressed glimpse, she watched his hand slide down her middle and pause just beneath her navel. She would never know whether it was the true action of his fingers passing below that point, or the mere _thought_ that he was going to touch her there that brought her to a brink she hadn't been aware she was approaching. What followed was both the most agonizing and the most wonderful sensation she could have imagined.

The mass of pooling heat burst suddenly and came washing over in beautiful, violent, waves. He gently forced her thighs apart against her instinct and penetrated her in what she had worried would be a dreadfully painful act. The pulsing pleasure that still held her fast had drowned out all receptors of pain. All she felt was the quick, tender pierce as he efficiently fractured her virginity.

He grasped almost desperately at both sides of her waist, thrusting against her in a most uncouth manner that she found horribly fascinating. His ragged, uncontrolled breathing as he settled atop her was so frighteningly uncharacteristic of him, so exquisitely foreign to her ears, the threateningly arousing sound pushed her to lose herself all over again. Hot rapids of blood rushing through her veins, some flowing sensation of unfed desire stirring restlessly within her core. Subconsciously, she released a soft cry of suppressed ecstasy which he quickly covered with his mouth. She was petrified with pleasure.

Indecent images of fierce violet flames, shattering glass, and waterfalls of boiling water flooded her mind as she collapsed beneath the wonderful weight of his body in the heaviest, most luxuriant level of gratification she could ever know.

Blanketed with his warmth, her arms slid loosely from around his neck as her sensitive flesh prickled with searing goose bumps.

His delving, husky whisper of those three simple words resonated softly in her ear and a feverish flush crept over her body. She was too weak to respond, her senses worked to their last level of tolerance.

She watched him sleep through lidded eyes, in a halcyon daze. His face was almost puerile in the soft aquamarine light of early dawn. The notion that she could see him this way every night if she so wished was so absurdly inconceivable - that they could spend any night like this, stripped to nothing but their wedding rings. The thought that she belonged to him completely was unceasingly alarming to her fragile mind. She was his.

Her pulse took days to settle after that night. From that point on, just looking at him in any setting made her blood to rush to uncharted areas of her heart, soul, and body. While around other people who regarded him simply for his commanding presence, his title, his status - she entertained herself with the thought of how wonderfully scandalous it was that she was this man's only lover.

Agathe bent to kiss her husband's cheek as he was seated at the table on the terrace, immersed in writing a letter. "Writing a novel, darling?" She questioned with amused tiredness. He had been writing for nearly half an hour now. "If so, it had better be about me..." She added teasingly.

He looked up at her with a gentle glare, and she giggled softly.

"Why don't you sit down?" He asked considerately, gesturing to the chair across from him.

"I'm more comfortable standing." She assured and leaned against the back of the chair, watching him from across the table. If she paid close enough attention, she could see his eyes move ever so slightly back and forth as he read across the page. She distractedly followed the path of his pen as it moved fluidly across the paper. His handwriting was elegant in a rapid sort of way, though not always legible. She loved the way he wrote his "G"s. He had a habit of giving them a sort of calligraphic tail that made them stand out from all the other capital letters. She liked them because they reminded her of a treble clef starting a stanza of sheet music. When he signed his signature, the G took on a very fitting command over the rest of the name. It looked powerful, elegant, yet still quick, the stroke of the ink never planned. She watched as he scribbled the familiar, robust series of strokes that marked his signature at the end of the letter. He set the pen down and lifted his head in that intrinsically proud way as he carefully folded the letter and tucked it into a dark red envelope. He exhaled deeply and opened another telegram as he assumed a more relaxed position in his chair, bringing his wine glass to his lips as he lazily read over the lengthy page.

She sighed airily as her eyes climbed the back façade of their villa.

"What is it?" He asked with quiet interest.

"What on earth are we going to do with such a large house?" She revealed her thoughts with a question.

"We're working on it." He responded, smirking cryptically at her.

She let his words soak in for a moment. "You mean _I'm_ working on it." She corrected crisply, biting back her smile.

He stared forwardly at her, "Well, I worked a bit too..." He said slyly. She flushed vividly.

"Hm." She remarked with dry skepticism to distract herself.

"Unfortunately, unless I'd be willing to let you borrow my "Y" chromosome for the evening, I don't think there's any way you will appreciate it."

She giggled genuinely at his comment and shyly bit her lip.

"Oh, you're not convinced?" He asked tautly. There was that lilt again. Why did he have to do that?

She raised her eyebrows at him.

"I'll work harder next time..." He promised, eyeing her darkly.

Her heartbeat hitched. "I'm sure you will."

He lowered his gaze to her rounded middle which she had previously referred to as "awkward and unflattering." He couldn't help but smile. To his eyes it was anything but.

"What do you think we should name our first child?" She asked conversationally.

"Our _first _child?" He repeated, feigning surprise. "And just how many children do you expect us to have, Agathe?"

She moved her hand to cradle the underside of her belly. "As many as you think you can handle, Captain."

He smirked and settled against the back of the chair, studying the stack of telegrams he had written responses for, then tossed his pen down on the table.

"I've just answered _seven_ of these letters, and I believe by now I've had about all that I can handle." His obscenely blue eyes sparkled mischievously under the sunlight.

She smiled in complete acquiescence. "Seven it is then."

_Das Ende_


End file.
